


Awake My Soul

by teamdemonmonkey



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 06:02:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 50,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6040903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teamdemonmonkey/pseuds/teamdemonmonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He felt drawn to her, like there were strings attached to his very being and she was pulling him in, dragging him into her delicious warmth, so much like the summer sun that warmed all it touched. She was beautiful and modest and for all the pain and suffering she had endured, maintained a level of innocence and naiveté that he found endearing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. After The Storm

**Hello lovely people of fanfiction.**

**The name comes from the song Awake My Soul by the wonderful Mumford and Sons.**

**The song for this chapter is After the Storm by Mumford and Sons. Don't worry, they won't be my only inspiring artist.**

**Connect with me!**  
Twitter: teamdemonmonkey  
Facebook: tdmfanfiction

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not the Iron Throne, not the North and definitely not Tyrion Lannister. But oh the things I could do if I did.**

Chapter One: After the Storm

It had been two months, one week and three days since his wife had spoken to him. He hadn't thought that she would last that long, that she would hold it against him for weeks. He knew that she blamed him, hated him simply because his last name was Lannister, because it was on his family's orders that her brother and mother had been murdered. He hated this! He hated that his family had caused her so much pain, so much loss. And there was nothing he could do about it, gods curse it!

He paced outside his door, too frustrated with the icy demeanor his wife treated him with to go inside but too lonely to go anywhere else. Bronn was at the brothel, getting some skirt and Pod was running a message to Verys for him. Shae had left for Pentos after Tywin discovered her relationship with him and Tyrion managed to get her out before he could kill her. Left alone with his thoughts and aggravation, he continued to pace outside the room, working up the courage to go inside, to face his wife's apathy and disgust.

He heard footsteps behind him and turned, freezing when Sansa came into view. She also froze, eyes locked with his in terror. Her eyes were red rimmed and puffy, tears still fresh on her face. Her chest was heaving with what he assumed had been sobs mere moments ago. She stood there, eyes shifting between him and the door. He was frozen, unable to move, worried to frighten her away. Finally, he couldn't take the silence any longer.

"What happened? Was it Joffrey? Did he attack you again?" Tyrion ignored the fact that she hadn't spoken to him in months, that she hated him. She was crying and it felt as though each tear was a knife to his heart. She shook her head, pushing past him into their room. He followed, undeterred by her rejection. "Sansa, please, it's been months!" She whirled to face him, fire flashing in her eyes.

"Yes! It has been months! Two! It's been two months since my brother and mother went to a wedding and were brutally killed on _your_ family's orders! So, you're right, I haven't spoken to you. Because every day I'm reminded that Lannisters killed my family and I'm married to one! I am a Lannister now and how in the seven hells does that not make me a traitor to my own blood?" At this point, her voice broke and she sank to the floor, sobs wracking her body and tears pouring from her eyes. He reacted instinctively and dropped to the ground, wrapping his short arms around her. She clung to him, blindly burying her face in his chest.

"I know my family had wronged you, that my nephew has treated you in deplorable manner. My father is a bloodthirsty tyrant and my sister is an incestuous snake. And I know," he said, pausing and he felt her go still, "that your father and brother weren't traitors. Your father was an honorable man who believed in duty and loyalty above all else. And he and your mother and brother were betrayed. And I can never fix that, I cannot give you their lives. But I can promise to give you the freedom to love them and mourn them. And I promise to never stop treating you like a queen." She had raised her head halfway through his speech and now, as she stared into his eyes he could see some of her pain melting away.

"I'm afraid I don't want to be queen. It doesn't seem that magical anymore," she admitted and Tyrion felt himself begin to laugh. She smiled and then began to laugh too, doubling over and clutching her sides as her laughter mixed with his and filled the room.

When their laughter finally subsided, she grabbed his hand and he felt his heart quicken. "Thank you. I'm sorry for being so unfeeling these last months. It was unfair of me to punish you for your family's cruelty."

"Sansa, you have nothing to be sorry for. If I were in your position, I wouldn't talk to me either. Of course, I wouldn't talk to me under any circumstances," he added and she laughed softly.

"You shouldn't tear yourself down, my lord."

"Tyrion," he said and she smiled to herself.

"Tyrion. You are so much more than people think you to be." Tyrion felt himself blushing at her words and shook his head.

"It's not hard to be more than a demon monkey," he said and she rolled her eyes.

"If we're going to make this work," she said slowly and his eyes locked onto her face, hope stirring in his chest, "then I am insisting that you are no longer allowed to tear yourself down. If you cannot see the beauty in you, then it will just be up to me to show you." Tyrion stared at her, mesmerized by her. Her strength, her respect, it all made him realize that she truly got the short end of the stick marrying him. She was so good, so loving despite the atrocities that had befallen her family and she had been forced to endure.

"My dear lady," he said, raising her hand to his lips and kissing it, "I do not deserve you." She blushed and tucked her hair behind her ear. He smiled to himself, pleased at having caused her cheeks to flush. He felt something stir in his breast, as though his heart was becoming too large for his chest. He felt drawn to her, like there were strings attached his very being and she was pulling him in, dragging him into her delicious warmth, so much like the summer sun that warmed all it touched. She was beautiful and modest and for all the pain and suffering she had endured, maintained a level of innocence and naiveté that he found endearing.

"Well since I'm the daughter of the 'traitorous' King of the North and you're the demon monkey," she said, teasing him and he smiled, recalling the sunny walk they had taken in happier times before her family had fallen at the hand of his family, "I think you must have done something to deserve me." He chuckled and brushed a hand along her cheekbone, reveling in the soft skin.

"I… I know that our marriage has been tenuous at best," he stuttered. Why was he stuttering? He was usually so eloquent. "But I would very much like to try and make this work. I know that you didn't want to marry me, that I am not much of a catch, but you are better than I could have ever hoped for in a wife."

"I would like to try also," she said after a moment, nervously smoothing her dress. He grinned.

"Well, that's settled then. I think it is time for bed." She froze and he could see her throat working, swallowing thickly. "I-I didn't mean, together. I just imagine… tired. You must be very… tired."

"No… well, yes, I mean, I am… I just…" she stopped, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I have had a very trying day… year," she admitted after a moment. "I was wondering if perhaps tonight, you could keep me company." His breath stopped as he stared at her, worried to move an inch lest he frighten her. "Not in the way that your father demanded, but… when I was little, my mother would hold me after something terrible happened. When my little sister became ill and I heard the servants say that she was going to die, I was so frightened. My mother climbed into my bed and held me. She would run her fingers through my hair and tell me about the waters of Riverrun and her childhood there. It always calmed me down. I just… you are the only person I have left who actually cares about me, not who my family is or what you can get from me. And I… I feel safe with you." He stared at her, trying to process the unbelievable truth that he was telling her. "It is silly," she said after a moment, getting up and moving to the bed agitatedly.

"No," he said suddenly and she turned, staring at him with startled eyes. He could see rejection and pain beginning to form tears. "I meant, no, it's not silly. I would be happy to oblige you, my lady." She smiled shyly and began to undress, removing her clothes until she remained in her shift. Tyrion moved to the other side of the bed and began removing his clothes as well. She climbed into bed, pulling the covers over her and turning on her side to face him. He climbed onto the bed once he was finished and blew out the candle on his side, leaving the room in darkness save for the small amount of moonlight shining through the window. He laid down, scooting closer to her until she rested her head on his chest, wrapping her slender arms around him. He began to comb his fingers through her hair, relishing in the feel of the silken strands between his fingers and moved his other hand up to grasp her arm.

"I remember the first time I saw Winterfell," he said quietly. "The towers rising up, surrounded by trees that had withstood countless winters, the harshest of environments. I wondered how anything could survive in so cold a place. But after observing your family, seeing their strength, your beauty, I came to realize that only the strongest things survive in the North." She laughed humorlessly. "You are one of the strongest people that I know," he said after a moment. "You have survived the harsh winters of the North, the burning politics of the South and you will survive whatever else may be thrown at you. I have never met anyone as strong as you." She smiled into his chest, the compliment warming her.

"I remember when you first spoke to me, the first time I saw you after my father's death. You offered your condolences. I remember being so surprised, so taken off guard that someone would feel sympathy for me. Not just anyone but a Lannister. I wanted to cry, to thank you for not treating me as though I had not just watched my father die. You showed me kindness when no one else would. It is the reason that I did not do something drastic like throw myself from a tower when I learned we were to be wed."

"I would have been devastated if you had done so," he said, sitting up to stare at her. "Even then, when I knew that marrying me would be the worst kind of fate. You are too special to lose." She smiled and without thought, he bent over and pressed his lips to her forehead. She smiled to herself and he laid back down again, resuming the stroking of her hair. "Although I understand the impulse," he said after a moment and she rolled her eyes and punched him in the arm. "Ouch," he said, removing his arm from under her head and rubbing the offended appendage. "You are surprisingly strong for a nobleman's daughter." She laughed.

"I am a daughter of the North. We are strong people," she teased and he rolled his eyes.

"Using my own words against me! How did I come to be such an abused husband?"

"By marrying a woman who is not cowed by your intimidation or wit," she replied without hesitation. Tyrion smirked.

"So you admit, I'm clever," he said. She rolled her eyes and made to punch him again. He flinched and she laughed, rubbing his arm in a soothing manner.

"I think you are too clever for your own good," she teased.

"Alas, you are not the first to tell me," he said, shaking his head. "But such is the curse of having such a brilliant mind." Sansa rolled her eyes.

"I think I'm the cursed one," she muttered, rolling over in the bed.

"Yes, I suppose you are cursed," he said, rolling over and placing his arm around her waist. "Cursed with a charming husband."

"My 'charming husband' had better stop talking or he'll be sleeping on the chaise again," she mumbled sleepily.

"Sorry, wife. I will try and keep my musings to myself." She just hummed in reply and he lay there, running his fingers through her hair and holding her waist softly, feeling blessed instead of cursed for the first time in his life.


	2. Classy Girls

 

**The song for this chapter is Classy Girls by the Lumineers.**

**Connect with me!**  
Twitter: teamdemonmonkey  
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**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not the Iron Throne, not the North and definitely not Tyrion Lannister. But oh the things I could do if I did.**

Chapter Two: Classy Girls

Things had been going well in the few weeks since Sansa had opened up to Tyrion. He felt like they were finally learning to trust each other. He held her every night and their playful banter was a common occurrence between them during the day and especially at night as they lay in bed falling asleep. Sansa was quick witted and clever and this surprised him only slightly. She would have to be clever to have survived the political games of the capitol but he was surprised to find that she was well read. She admitted to him that before they had come to Winterfell all she cared for was needlework and the other pastimes that would ensure her the skills to be a good wife. But after coming to the capitol and learning of Joffrey's true nature, she had turned to books, eager to find an escape from the brutal reality of her life. This excited Tyrion to no end as they argued over books and stories. Sansa was still somewhat of a romantic while Tyrion had a bitter twist of cynicism in all his critiques. Their arguments usually ended with Sansa threatening to make him sleep on the chaise and then smiling when his mouth snapped closed.

He loved to see her smile. It happened so rarely before they were married and even less after the news of her brother and mother but he was pleased to know that he was the one to lift her spirits. They were becoming fast friends and while Tyrion hoped that one day their relationship would take a much more serious tone, he was pleased to be able to cheer her up and protect her. For now, he would content himself with their easy conversation and shared bed. Perhaps one day he would earn her trust enough to be able to tell her how much his feelings had grown for her because he was convinced, his feelings could only solidify and develop for her.

They were walking through the royal gardens on their way to dinner with his family. Tywin demanded their presence for dinner at least twice a week and they had been putting it off. Sansa endured the thinly veiled barbs from her new sister-in-law and nephew. Tywin surprised her by welcoming her into the family and seeming pleased with her compliance to play what Cersei so fondly referred to as the Game of Thrones. He also seemed pleased that she made Tyrion happy because it meant less embarrassment for the Lannister family. Sansa took his praise and admiration easily but with reservations. She had never known a Lannister besides Tyrion to offer kindness without a price.

"Sansa, little dove, don't you look just perfect," Cersei said cynically, eyeing Sansa's attire. She and Tyrion had unintentionally dressed to match and her new dress was slightly more revealing than her usual attire, one of the many changes of being a married woman.

"Thank you. Under Lady Margaery's guidance, I have been trying some different things," she said evenly. At Margaery's name, Cersei grimaced and rolled her eyes.

"My lady does have excellent taste," Joffrey said, smirking at Sansa. Tyrion moved to help Sansa into her chair. He pushed it forward gently while she indiscreetly stood to make it easier for him. He moved to sit but found that the chair next to his wife was considerably higher than hers. He struggled to climb up onto the seat while Joffrey sniggered maniacally. Sansa felt rage fill her and barely managed to keep a straight face and measured voice before speaking.

"My lord, I fear this chair is horribly uncomfortable," she said, turning to Tyrion who was avoiding eye contact with everyone at the table. "Would it be too much of an inconvenience to ask you to allow me to sit in yours," she asked and his head snapped up, eyes meeting hers. She could see the gratitude in his eyes as well as something else that caused her to warm from the inside.

"Of course, my lady. How inconsiderate of me to not take your comfort into consideration. I am a bad husband." He helped her stand and then helped her sit in the oversized chair that Joffrey had placed at the table. He sat in Sansa's former seat and she chanced a glance at Joffrey. His smile had soured into a grimace and she smiled internally, pleased to have foiled his plans at further embarrassing her husband.

"Tell me, Sansa, how is life being married to my brother? Is it as exciting as all the whores he's paid claim," Cersei asked bluntly and Sansa flushed with what her sister-in-law thought was embarrassment but was actually anger.

"That was completely uncalled for," Tyrion started angrily but Tywin interrupted him.

"Cersei, apologize to Sansa. Whatever your brother may have participated in for pastimes before his marriage to her, he certainly abstains from such activities now." Cersei shot her father a disbelieving look before turning to Sansa with a cold smile.

"Forgive me, Sansa. I am so unused to seeing my brother not involved in dishonorable and perverted past times, I-"

"Leave," Tywin bit out angrily, interrupting her.

"What," she asked incredulously.

"I will not have you trying to drive a wedge between your brother and his wife out of spite. If you cannot at least be civil, you will not eat with this family. Now leave before you embarrass us further." Cersei looked around the table, before glaring at Tyrion and pushing herself from the table. She stomped from the room and slammed the door behind her. "Your grace, perhaps you should go comfort your mother," Tywin suggested and Joffrey leveled Sansa with a leer before standing up and striding idly after his offended mother.

"Forgive me, Sansa. I do not know why Cersei continues to act uncivilized," Tywin said before beginning to eat his meal. Sansa glanced at Tyrion uncertainly and saw him staring at his father with his mouth hanging open. She grabbed his hand under the table and he closed his mouth and poured himself a glass of wine before offering some to her.

"There is nothing to apologize for, my lord," Sansa said. "If I had been banished from the table every time I said something disrespectful to my sister, I would have perished from starvation long ago." Tywin chuckled quietly and Tyrion turned to Sansa. She bit back the laugh that bubbled in her throat at the confused and awed look he directed at her. He shook his head in disbelief and then he too began to eat. Dinner was quiet as Tywin engaged them in conversation about city life and the lives and positions of multiple people. After they had finished, they bid him a good night and continued back to their rooms.

"You know, I think you could charm a white walker," Tyrion said as he closed the doors.

"Oh really? And what would I possibly have to charm a white walker into doing," Sansa asked as she moved to her mirror to let her hair down.

"Anything! Moving to the desert! I have never seen my father defend me in my life and certainly never banish Cersei from the table. Only you would make my father do something so completely out of character." Sansa snorted.

"I hardly forced him. Perhaps you underestimate how much your happiness means to him." At this, Tyrion snorted.

"Please, Sansa, I know exactly how high my father esteems me and I am barely taller than that mark. No, I think it is the prospect that my marriage to you has turned me into an honorable Lannister, not the perverted, lust driven, drunken imp he believed me to be."

"Yes, thank you, I would rather not know about your perversions," she teased.

"Past perversions," he justified. She rolled her eyes.

"You are a pervert, don't deny it."

"Well, I cannot have everyone thinking that marriage has tamed me," he said drily and she laughed. "Thank you," he said after a moment and she turned in her chair and give him a confused stare. "For saving me from Joffrey's unoriginal and unimaginative pranks," he explained, coming closer. Her face softened.

"You do not need to thank me. It was a poor joke that he played. I would have liked to rub his face in dung but foiling his plans seemed the safer option." He laughed and she smiled wider, feeling proud that she had amused him. Sometimes she felt like he was so much wittier than her that he would grow bored of her company.

"While that would have been a truly wonderful display to see, I am happy that you came to my aid. I feel ashamed to admit that I am related to someone who cannot even come up with a prank that does not involve my height. It's our wedding day all over again," he muttered quietly but she heard.

"I will always come to your aid," she said quietly, taking his hand and their eyes met. He squeezed her fingers gently.

"And I yours," he whispered. She felt heat building in her as their eyes held. Her eyes dropped to his lips, suddenly curious to know what they would feel like against hers. He watched her eyes lock on his mouth and his throat tightened. He moved his head closer so slowly the entire world could have ended and they wouldn't have noticed. She could feel his hot breath, sweetened with wine fanning on her lips and her stomach tightened. She closed her eyes and waited for his lips to touch hers, anticipation building inside her until she felt like she would explode.

A knock on the door caused her eyes to fly open and meet Tyrion's, only centimeters from her face. She sighed and leaned back before he went to answer it. Podrick came in, bearing a note from Tywin. She watched as he read it, face serious before he glanced at her and then turned to Podrick.

"Tell my father I will attend him in the morning," he instructed. "There is nothing to be done tonight and my wife and I are tired." Podrick nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

"What was that about," Sansa asked, removing her dress until she remained in her shift. Her hair was hanging in loose waves down her shoulders and back. He stared at her, amazed by her beauty, much more a woman and less the girl that had come to King's Landing so long ago. His heart nearly broke knowing that as soon as he answered her question, uncertainty and anxiety would poison the beautiful moment they had just shared. But he couldn't –wouldn't –keep this from her.

"They've had word from my brother, Jaime. He's expected to arrive here tomorrow."


	3. Slow And Steady

**When season three ended, we saw Jamie in Cersei's doorway right after those in King's Landing got word of the Red Wedding. I've altered the timeline just slightly by having him arrive a few months later.**

**Lemon alert! I personally think it's too soon for a lemon but as previously stated, the chapters basically write themselves. You know what they say; if it feels right do it.**

**The song for this chapter is Slow And Steady by Of Monsters And Men.**

**Connect with me!**  
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**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not the Iron Throne, not the North and definitely not Tyrion Lannister. But oh the things I could do if I did.**

Chapter Three: Slow And Steady

Her face froze and he could see the fear coursing through her, knowing that when Jaime escaped he had likely hurt or killed some of her few remaining family and friends. "I am sure that your family were not injured. He's been missing with no word for months," he said quietly, approaching her slowly, afraid to startle her.

"Who is there left to injure," she asked so quietly, he was sure he wasn't meant to have heard. He finally made it to her side and took her hand as she sat heavily on the ground. He saw the tears pooling in her eyes and he turned her face to his.

"I will do everything in my power to ensure that nothing happens to your remaining siblings," he vowed softly. "Sansa," he said forcefully when he saw the disbelief coloring her features. "I swear to you. If I have to scour the countryside myself to find all of them and go take Jon from Castle Black in person, I will not let your family come to harm." She clutched at the hand he had pressed to her cheek, tears finally spilling down her cheeks.

"You are my family now," she whispered softly and he felt his heart clench in his chest. "You are my family and you must be careful not to get so caught up in these games that anything happens to you. My sister… Arya is smart and resourceful. If no one has heard anything from her, it means she has evaded capture. Bran and Rickon have loyal people protecting them. But you… I will not survive, Tyrion. I will not survive watching your nephew or father or sister take you from me," she said harshly. He stared at her in shock. Without thought, he crashed his lips against hers. She gasped as his lips assaulted hers, brushing over them desperately, unable to convey the buildup of emotion that was clawing its way from his chest. He briefly worried about how she would react but her lips began to move against his; inexperienced and uncoordinated but so very confident and forceful. He groaned and his hands moved to circle her waist. Her arms came to up to his neck and her hands buried themselves in his curly hair, pulling gently and only adding to the sensory overload he was experiencing.

Sansa was on fire. She felt like her whole body was thrumming with wildfire, hot and uncontrollable as it consumed her. Tyrion's hands were at her waist, her face, her hair, caressing softly and squeezing her deliciously and yet she still felt incomplete. His mouth moved against hers, tongue running along her lips until she opened them and felt the wildfire inside her flare at the feeling of his tongue tangling with hers, engaging in a passionate dance. The feel of his soft curls against her palms, the rough stubble of his unshaven cheek against her fingertips was overwhelming her. Tyrion's groans were vibrating against her mouth and she could feel them all the way down to her toes. She clutched at him, the tiny distance between them too much for her liking. She pulled at his clothes, unbuttoning them quickly and pushing his tunic off his shoulders. She tugged at his undershirt and they broke apart long enough to pull it over his head before his lips were attached to hers again.

She pulled away from him gently, before looking at him completely. She was silent as she looked him over and after a few moments Tyrion began to feel self conscious. He cleared his throat and moved over to the bed quickly, climbing in and pulling the sheet up to his waist, avoiding her eyes filled with confusion and the sting of rejection.

"I know I'm not handsome," he said after a moment. "I have yet to meet someone who thinks so, so I don't blame you for thinking so. Just… toss me my shirt and I'll sleep on the chaise tonight." Sansa didn't move. She just stared at him before she began to laugh. His frown deepened as she attempted to regain control of herself. "You know, laughing doesn't really make me feel better," he said shortly. She stood, physically holding back her laughter and moved over to the bed, climbing onto the sheets and kneeling in front of him. He tried to avoid looking at her but his eyes kept glancing up to meet hers.

"I wasn't laughing at you, Tyrion," she said seriously after she saw how injured he was. He snorted. "I wasn't. I was laughing at how ridiculous you are sometimes." His head shot up in indignation.

"Oh, ridiculous? That's original," he said sarcastically and she shook her head.

"I wonder how someone who claims not to care what people think of him, who walks around with confidence emanating from him can think so poorly of himself." He looked up at her in confusion before looking away. "Tyrion," she said softly, reaching for his hand. He didn't pull away but still refused to meet her eyes. "Tyrion," she said firmly and his eyes finally met hers. Her face was earnest and warm and he felt himself begin to relax. "You are handsome," she said and he rolled his eyes but she stopped him from pulling away. "You are," she insisted. "No one realizes that though you are not as tall as other men, you are so similar. You more muscular than half the lords in court." She brushed her hand across his abdomen and said muscles bunched under her touch. "Margaery once told me you were handsome and I didn't see it at the time. She said the scar only added to the attraction and I didn't agree, couldn't see past my biased. But now," she whispered, leaning up and brushing her lips across his scar, following it from his forehead to his cheek, "now I know exactly what she means. You're not a monster or deformed. The scar makes you look rugged, untamed," she said and he smiled slightly as she brushed the hair from his forehead gently. "I know you are self conscious so let me explain myself so that there is no more of this nonsense about not being handsome." She paused, taking a deep breath.

"I have never experienced this… these feelings, this passion. With Joffrey, at first it was girlish infatuation, a dream of a handsome prince making me his queen. After discovering his true nature, there have been no feelings aside from disgust and loathing. Loras was handsome but I was still caught up in the girlish fantasy of a knight in shining armor. It was like the soft white bread that the kitchens make." His brow furrowed. "Beautiful and delicate but there is no substance to it. Since I have married you, forced you to endure my silence and resentment and then come to be closer to you, I have found that your attraction is enhanced considerably by who you are. You are handsome, yes, and gentle and kind and clever and it is all of those things which warm me when you look at me and set me ablaze when you touch me. I hesitated because you are so very handsome and I have no experience. I had already ripped your clothes off of you; I did not want to appear too brazen." He stared at her, stunned into silence by her honesty and blown away by her feelings. Finally he smiled.

"I like a woman with a mind of her own," he said, brushing her hair behind her ear, taking pride in the blush that coated her cheeks and the shiver than ran through her. "You have my permission to be as forward as you wish." She smiled and then bit her lip.

"You are not mad at me?"

"Mad at you? How in the seven hells could I be mad at you? You are perfection," he said, grasping her hands in his. "You are better than I ever could have chosen for myself. But don't tell my father I said that. You are amazing, Sansa. I am… I am overwhelmed you can bear to share my company let alone find me handsome." She gave him a hard look. "It will take time for me to see myself as you do." She stared at him and then smirked.

"Then I will just have to help convince you," she said and he leaned back as she pulled away before slowly lifting her shift over her head, pulling it free from her hair and arms. Tyrion swallowed thickly, unable to look away from her as she settled her hair behind her back. She moved forward slowly and then leaned over and kissed his jaw. He exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"You are ruggedly handsome," she breathed against his ear and his skin suddenly felt tight and uncomfortable. She kissed her way to the other side of his face and down to his neck where she kissed, sucking slightly and running her teeth over the skin. He sucked in a breath and she smiled against his skin. "You are witty and clever." She moved down to his shoulder, biting the muscle there and he groaned. "You are gentle and kind." She moved her lips down his torso before stopping at his abdomen, running her lips and tongue over the quivering muscles there. She pulled back the sheet over his legs and smiled up at him. He threaded a hand in her hair and rejoiced in the feel of the silky strands wrapped around his fingers. She began to lean her head down but he stopped her and pulled her face to his, brushing his lips against hers urgently, biting her lip and feeling his stomach drop when she copied the gesture and pulled his lower lip into her mouth. He sat up and then pushed her back against the pillows gently. He reclined next to her, deepening the kiss as his hands trailed from her face down her soft skin to her breast.

He massaged it gently and Sansa moaned into the kiss. He felt his muscles tighten at the sound and moved his mouth from hers down to the pink aureole, sucking and biting gently as Sansa squirmed beneath his touch, threading her hands into his head and holding his head closer. He moved his mouth to the other breast and she moaned loader. He continued to lavish attention on her chest before moving his mouth up to her jaw while his hand continued its journey down to the tangle of curls at the crease of her legs. She arched into his hand as his fingers moved over the heated, moist skin.

"Tyrion," she breathed and his heart sped up. "I… I didn't know…" He smiled against her shoulder.

"My dear wife," he said saucily. "There are quite a few things that you didn't know that I am about to educate you on." He sat up and moved so that he was straddling her waist. "This might hurt a bit," he warned, kissing her damp forehead. She placed her hands on his jaw and pulled his head closer to hers.

"It'll be worth it," she whispered before claiming his mouth in a consuming kiss again. He groaned and positioned himself between her legs. He slowly began to enter her, letting her adjust to him a little bit at a time. She bucked her hips into his and he entered her fully, pausing when she gasped. He pulled away from their kiss and looked at her, searching for signs of discomfort. Her eyes were closed and her bottom lip was between her teeth.

"Are you alright? Should I stop," he asked in concern, unsure about what he would do if she said yes. She opened her eyes, meeting his and then moved her hips experimentally before smiling at him and shaking her head. He sighed. "Thank the gods," he said before kissing her again. He plunged his tongue into her mouth while mimicking the motion lower. She gasped and he laid down on her, holding himself up with his arms and she wrapped her legs around his waist, pushing him deeper inside her and groaning at the sensation. He moved slowly before she urged him to speed up. He rhythmically moved inside and against her while she grasped at his back and hair, unable to stop the sounds coming from her mouth. She was beautiful, flushed and perspiring with her hair spread out on the pillow and Tyrion felt his muscles beginning to tense in a familiar way. Her breathing sped up and she began to move against him, her motions becoming erratic. He could feel her beginning to clench around him and he bit his lip, trying to stave off his climax until she was closer. Finally he felt her fall apart beneath him, her walls convulsing against his member and he let go, falling over that delicious precipice, her name on his lips and she gasped and called his name.

When their breathing slowed, he rolled to the side, pulling her with him until her head rested on his chest and her hands idly played with the hair on his chest. Her legs tangled with his under the sheet. His fingers moved languidly up and down her shoulder and arm and she shivered against him.

"Are you cold," he asked, concern saturating his already thick voice. She shook her head.

"That was… wonderful. Is it always like that?" He chuckled.

"No. I happen to be very talented," he teased and she rolled her eyes.

"I guess I cannot argue with that," she sighed and he nodded.

"No, you can't. You have no one to compare it to and you never will if I have anything to say about it," he said and she laughed.

"And what if I get bored with you," she asked him teasingly, tilting her head to look up at him.

"Then I will have to teach you something new," he said, kissing her gently.

"Mmm, and what happens when you run out of things to teach me," she asked against his jaw.

"I don't think… that's possible," he said, attempting to stay calm and failing miserably. She smiled against his skin and moved her leg so that it brushed against his reawakening member. Her hands moved slowly down his chest to his abdomen and then below the sheets.

"And how long do I have wait for another lesson," she asked mischievously as her hand brushed against his growing length. He sucked in a breath.

"Five seconds," he forced out.

"What happens then," she asked curiously.

"This." And he pulled her against him, capturing her mouth in a searing kiss.


	4. Some Nights

 

**I would like to point out. Yes, I did a lemon. Yes, that was my first published lemon. I guess you could say I popped that cherry (hahaha that's what Tyrion said... but not really). BUT I will not be doing lemons every, or every other, chapter. I am a plot driven girl and while lemons are fun and intense, they rarely contribute to the plot (except the last one. Which was still too soon. Not going to get over that). So don't expect this to be a smut driven fic. Though with Tyrion as a main character...**

**The song for this chapter is Some Nights originally by FUN but I hate that one and prefer (and used) the acoustic cover by Alex G and Tyler Ward (I love him). This was a really hard chapter to find a song for. I struggled but this sounded the best. Except for Rains of Castamere but that felt too cliché to write to.**

**Connect with me! I love hearing from you! And supposedly, I am funny (that declaration is not legally binding).**  
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**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not the Iron Throne, not the North and definitely not Tyrion Lannister. But oh the things I could do if I did.**

Chapter Four: Some Nights

Sansa woke the next morning to sunlight falling across her legs. She turned slowly and smiled when she saw Tyrion fast asleep on his own pillow, arm thrown over his head and sheet bunched around his waist. His chest rose and fell softly, the sunlight dancing off the flaxen hair and turning it gold. She leaned in closer and ran her fingers through his hair, brushing it off his forehead gently. Her fingers moved across his scar, barely brushing the puckered skin. She brushed the hair on his chest lightly and he sighed and rolled over, eyes opening slightly and a smile gracing his face when he saw her.

"I had the most wonderful dream," he said, voice thick with sleep. "I dreamt that my lady wife and I had the most wonderful romp in the sheets last night. Several times." He looked down under the sheet at himself and then her, making her giggle. "It wasn't a dream," he exclaimed, rolling over until he was on top of her, kissing her passionately. She laughed into the kiss and then moaned when he began to kiss her neck.

"Don't you have to meet with your father this morning?"

"I'll skip a hundred councils with my father if it means that I get to spend the day in bed with you," he said against her skin. A pounding at the door caused him to groan and roll off of her.

"What," he snapped and Podrick entered timidly. "Podrick, you have cursed timing."

"Forgive me, my lord, but your father-"

"My father can wait," Tyrion started but Tywin entered a moment later.

"Your father is wondering why you are an hour late to meet with me and greet your brother," he said, staring at his son and daughter-in-law in bed with a bland face.

"Is Jamie here yet?"

"No. But you said you would be there to meet him," he said sternly. Tyrion growled.

"I don't see why-" Tyrion began angrily but Sansa's calm voice stopped him.

"Forgive me, my lord," she said to Tywin, pulling the sheets to her and sitting up in the bed, one hand reaching out for her husband's to calm him. "It is my fault that your son was late."

"Your fault," Tywin questioned. Sansa wondered briefly if he was supposed to feel awkward having a conversation with her while she sat in her bed, naked but for the sheet she held around her. He showed no signs of discomfort and Sansa realized in that moment just how powerful and unfazed her father-in-law was by anything that did not threaten that power.

"Yes, my lord," she said, trying to keep her voice straight while Tyrion's fingers brushed over hers methodically. "I'm afraid I kept my lord husband up late last night. I should have been more mindful of his duties and let him sleep." Tyrion smirked at her when she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. She rolled her eyes and kept her head bowed as she waited for Tywin to speak.

"Tyrion," he finally said, "you will dress yourself." He turned to leave but stopped at the door, not bothering to turn around. "In case you are planning on disappointing me, I will wait outside this door. If you are not ready in ten minutes, I will come back in here and drag you out by your ears. Good day, my lady." He left, shutting the door behind him. Sansa collapsed against the pillows and Tyrion rolled over, dragging his fingers over her skin slowly, trying to hide a smile as goosebumps rose on her arms.

"Is it just me or was that the most embarrassing moment of your life," she asked after a moment. Tyrion laughed and she joined him, grasping his hand and entwining their fingers. They finally stopped, gasping for breath. He groaned in frustration.

"I just wanted to stay in bed with you and your beautiful words and your beautiful body all day," he sighed and she copied him dramatically. "I get no sympathy," he complained, placing a pouting kiss to her lips. She laughed and returned the kiss, pulling away when he attempted to deepen it.

"Go," she said, laughing and pushing him away as he protested. "I have already entertained your father with nothing but a sheet to hide my modesty once today; I do not wish to repeat the experience." He sighed and climbed off the bed, grabbing some clothes from his chest of drawers. "I hate to see you go," she said with an impish grin. He grinned back. "But I will more than enjoy watching you leave," she whispered with a wink and he froze, unable to take his eyes off her wickedly grinning form until a thundering knock hurried him out the door after a wistful glance back at her.

"It's good to see you finally following my commands," his father said after a moment of striding down the halls. "I allowed you to play your silly games with her, to avoid doing your duty as a husband and a Lannister, but mark my words, if you disobey me again I will make sure that everything you hold dear is stripped away from you." Tyrion rolled his eyes.

"I would like to inform you that my lady wife trusts me," he said shortly. "She trusts _me_ , a Lannister, a member of the family that has robbed hers of life."

"We were at war. We did what we had to," Tywin bit out angrily.

"I know that," Tyrion said calmly. "And while Sansa is loyal to us by her marriage to me, it does not remove that loss from her life. So when I say that I have earned her trust, I want you to know that I take that very seriously. When she bears me an heir, he will rule the North. With her beside me and behind him, the Northerners will not rebel against us as they otherwise would."

"The Northerners would be fools to rebel," Tywin started and Tyrion snorted.

"What, you mean like naming the son of the Warden of the North as king and declaring themselves a free nation? The Northerners know that we cannot win on their grounds. The winters are too harsh, the environment too inhospitable for Southerners. Sansa is the daughter of the man they loved and respected and as such, has earned their love and respect as well. Any man married to her can be Warden of the North but the man that she loves will have the willing respect and obedience of the people." Tywin was silent for several minutes and Tyrion felt a small amount of pride for silencing his father.

"I thought you were new to strategy," he said after a moment and Tyrion heard the hidden smile in his voice.

"I am. But as I have said several times over, I know people. My marriage to Sansa was for the purpose of ruling the North but my relationship with her ensures that the North will allow themselves to be ruled. It's a difference of perspective; you are only worried about ruling the North. I am concerned with ruling the North and continuing to do so."

"My threat still stands," Tywin said shortly before opening the door the small council chamber. They both stopped at the sight before them.

Jaime stood with his back to them, his clothes muddy and torn, hair matted with filth. Where once his posture exuded confidence, he was slouched with weariness, misfortune or both. Next to him was a very tall woman. Had it not been for the dress she was wearing, Tyrion would have sworn that she was a man. Her blonde hair was cut short like a man's and her figure was solid and built better than half the men at court. At the sound his father clearing his throat, Jamie turned slowly and Tyrion was frozen in shock. He heard his father curse and both moved forward to look at the stump on Jamie's arm where once a hand had been.

"Father, brother, this is Lady Brienne of Tarth. She has been guarding me since I left Robb Stark's camp."

"Who did this," Tywin demanded tightly.

"A brigand by name of Locke, one of Bolton's men. He didn't realize that I was worth more whole. Lord Bolton's maester patched me up, saved my arm. He then provided safe passage for myself and Lady Brienne to King's Landing. He should be rewarded. After all, a Lannister always pays his debts," Jamie said cynically.

"Bolton's already been rewarded for his assistance in ending this ridiculous war but I will see to it that he is repaid," Tywin said and Jaime and Brienne shared a confused look.

"What do you mean," Jamie asked quietly.

"Roose Bolton and Walder Frey took care of Robb Stark, Catelyn Stark and the false queen of the North some months ago. They went to a wedding and he assured that we would have no more trouble from the North." Brienne's face went pale and Jamie cursed and slammed his remaining fist against the table.

"By doing so you have ensured that I owe a debt to Catelyn Stark that can never be paid," Jamie shouted.

"Why would you owe a debt to Catelyn Stark," Tywin asked quietly.

"I did not escape Robb Stark's camp," Jamie said bitterly. "Catelyn Stark freed me, incurring the wrath of her son and his men for an act of treason, on the agreement that she was returning me to my family and I would return hers to her. I agreed to let Sansa and Arya go home to her." Tyrion's stomach dropped.

"You should not have made such an arrangement," Tywin shouted. "You should not have promised a payment you could not ensure! Catelyn Stark is dead and we are in no position to return her daughters anywhere!"

"Why," Brienne asked quietly. "Where are her daughters?"

"Cersei let the younger one escape the city and we have been unable to locate her. As for Sansa, she is now your brother's wife and he is quite attached to her," Tywin said, calming his voice as he spoke. Jamie and Brienne's shocked eyes turned to Tyrion who shrugged.

"You married Sansa Stark," Jamie asked incredulously. Tyrion rolled his eyes.

"I hardly had a choice at the time," he said, glaring at Tywin who remained unperturbed by his son's disapproval.

"And now? Father said you are 'attached' to her?"

"Things have changed," Tyrion said uncomfortably as he felt everyone's eyes on him. "We have grown quite close."

"So there is no way for us to repay this debt," Jamie said in disbelief. "Had Bolton and Frey not killed Lady Stark, you would still be unable to meet her demands! Why would you marry Sansa Stark into the family? That act alone ensured that there was no way for her to go back to the North."

"Your brother's son will be Warden of the North and heir to Casterly Rock," Tywin said monotonously. "Their marriage assures that we rule the North."

"Oh are you expecting a son as well," Jamie asked sarcastically. "Excuse me for not congratulating you."

"There is no son," Tyrion said softly.

"It is only a matter of time," Tywin said simply and Tyrion's jaw clenched in frustration.

"So this is what has happened while I was away," Jamie said softly. "My father murders his enemy at a wedding and my brother marries the daughter of his enemy to ensure power. I can honestly say I haven't missed this."

"We did what we had to do to protect the realm and this family! We weren't off incurring debts that cannot be repaid," Tywin yelled. Jamie remained unfazed by his father's anger and Tyrion gazed at him speculatively. It seemed that Jamie's adventures in Robb Stark's camp and at the hands of Bolton's men had diminished his ability to be intimidated by their father.

"Catelyn Stark gave me my life in exchange for her daughters. That is a deal you refused to make. All you had to do was give her children back since you cut off her husband's head and you would have me back, the North would do as they please," Jamie said quietly.

"Your nephew rules the Seven Kingdoms," Tywin bit out angrily. "It is weak to give in to the demands of a want-to-be king. We sacrificed what was necessary!"

"You sacrificed _nothing_ ," Jamie screamed. "I lost my _hand_! _I_ was the one who paid the debt!" He glared at his father angrily. "Do you remember what you told me when Catelyn Stark kidnapped Tyrion? You told me that I was blessed with gifts few other men possessed," he said quietly. "I was blessed with youth and the ability to wield a sword. I will never be able to joust again. I won't win in a sword fight, saddle a horse, shoot a bow…" He paused and Tyrion watched with a heavy heart as his throat constricted. Brienne moved closer to him discreetly to offer some form of strength. "Catelyn Stark granted me freedom and only wanted you to do the same for her children. I sacrificed the ability to ever lead a normal life again for nothing because you were so determined to be the strongest that you couldn't risk doing anything that could be misconstrued as weakness.

"So let's count our strength. Your youngest son is still dwarf. Your oldest son has only one hand and has incurred a debt you will never be able to pay. Your daughter cannot control her king son and he passes orders to kill infants and children. How could anyone not take the Lannisters seriously," he asked cynically, voice barely above a whisper. Tywin stared at his son, jaw clenching and unclenching before turning on his heel and storming from the room.


	5. Holding Out For A Hero

 

**The song for this chapter is Holding Out For A Hero by Ella Mae Bowen. It was the version used in the newest version of Footloose (to which I say 'meh, I didn't really like the original'). Love the song though.**

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Chapter Five: Holding Out For A Hero

Jamie sighed and collapsed into a chair at the table, Brienne following slowly and sitting by him, placing a hand on his shoulder in comfort. Tyrion moved to stand in front of his brother. Since he was a child, he had looked up to Jamie, admired him. When he didn't have any other friends, anyone to love him, Jamie had been there helping him play pranks on their septas and teaching him to stand up for himself. Tyrion knew what had really happened the day that Jamie had killed the Mad King. It was a story that Jamie hadn't shared with anyone else. Jamie knew how insecure Tyrion really was about himself, how desperately he yearned to be loved by someone.

"I understand why you made your arrangement with Lady Stark," Tyrion said quietly, meeting Jamie's eyes when he turned to look at him. "I still haven't forgiven Father or my twat of a nephew for what they did at the wedding. I sent Lord Stark's bones to Catelyn as a good faith gesture when you were captured. It would seem that spoke to her on some level, let her know that there was at least one Lannister who was willing to do the honorable thing. But Sansa is my wife now," he said, voice edged with a hardness that caused Jamie to raise his brow. "She is just beginning to be happy and I won't let anyone ruin that. She has endured enough at the hands of the violent perversions of this family and I promised to protect her and your arrival will not change that." He and Jamie stared at each other and then Jamie smiled slightly.

"You love her," he said in disbelief. Tyrion glanced at his brother's odd companion and then moved to sit on Jamie's other side.

"A husband is allowed to be protective of his wife," he said, pouring himself a glass of wine evasively. Jamie laughed.

"Oh don't play coy with me, brother. I know you. You love her. That is why you are so protective of her, why her happiness and safety means so much to you." Tyrion sighed.

"What of it," he asked bluntly. "She is an admirable woman and possibly the only woman who has ever shown me love or kindness not driven by greed." Jamie shook his head, smiling and Tyrion saw then the man that he had grown up with.

"I never thought I would see the day when you would find love," he chuckled. Tyrion raised his brow and looked pointedly between Jamie and Brienne.

"I could say the same for you, brother," he said, sipping his wine. Jamie and Brienne exchanged a glance.

"Fair enough. The heart wants what the heart wants." Tyrion toasted him and then set his cup down thoughtfully.

"Have you told Cersei?" Jamie's face tightened in disgust.

"I went to see her after I arrived. She was displeased. But not as displeased as I was when I was told of the atrocities that Joffrey has inflicted in my absence."

"Ah, yes. I think the hardest part for her is that her son didn't consult her, refuses to listen to her. As soon as he became king, he was instilled with this idea that as king he can do whatever he pleases without consequence."

"They told me about what he tried to do to Sansa," Jamie said quietly and Tyrion's grip tightened on the glass. "Did you really threaten to kill him?" Tyrion smiled bitterly.

"I didn't even love her then," he admitted quietly. "One of Varys's little birds found me and told me what he was doing. I'll never forget walking into the throne room that day," he whispered, eyes locked on the table but seeing something more than polished wood. "She was on the floor in front of the throne, Ser Meryn with his sword raised above her head. Her dress was ripped open and she was hunched over on herself, almost like she thought if she huddled enough she would be too small to hit again, trembling and sobbing. And everyone was just standing there watching," he said bitterly. "Clegane gave her his cloak to cover herself with but she was still crying, still ashamed and abused in front of everyone simply for the fact that her brother went into battle and won. Joffrey tried to tell me that he could do as he pleased, he was _king_ ," he bit out mockingly. "I compared him to the mad king and then asked if you had ever told him what happened there. Then I approached my lady. I reached my hand out to her palm down, almost like you would do with a frightened animal. Then I offered her my hand. She stared at me and you could see it in her eyes," he said, now lost in the memory, "she didn't know if she could trust me, if I was just trying to trick her. But she must have seen the earnest in my eyes because she took my hand. I offered the option of putting aside her betrothal and she just straightened her back, fixed her eyes ahead and said 'I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey' and strode out of the throne room like a queen," he said quiet admiration coloring his voice.

Jamie cleared his throat and Brienne wiped at her eyes discreetly. Tyrion sighed and poured himself another drink, downing it quickly, trying to dispel the haunting images of Sansa's tearstained face.

"I heard you threatened his manhood at your own wedding," Jamie said after a moment and Tyrion chuckled, putting the dark memories behind him.

"Now _that_ was a beautiful thing to see. You would have laughed until you couldn't stand. Father was struck speechless until Joffrey started talking." Jamie laughed and toasted his brother. "But enough about me. Tell me of your adventures amongst the brutal men of the North." Brienne stiffened and Tyrion turned his eyes to her and was met with a cold glare.

"Brienne was the personal guard of Lady Stark," Jamie said softly in way of explanation and Tyrion's face softened.

"Forgive me, my lady. I meant no disrespect to your lady or her family. Had she lived, she would have been my mother-in-law." Brienne held his eyes for several moments before nodding.

"No offense taken. I should very much like to meet her daughter. She spoke of her often."

"It would be my pleasure to introduce you," he said. "Why don't you and my brother join us for dinner in our chambers tonight? I have no doubt that you want to avoid Cersei and Father as much as possible. I know I do and I haven't been away letting them make stupid decisions." Jamie barked out a laugh and Brienne smiled to herself. "Please. I know my wife is desperate for news of her family. She plays the part of penitent 'traitor's daughter' well but only a fool believes her lies about loyalty to Joffrey."

"Is it really that bad," Jamie asked softly and Tyrion met his gaze, reading the anger, fear and shame in his eyes.

"Yes. But I only imagine it will get worse," he said softly before downing the rest of his wine.

By the time that Tyrion made it back to his rooms, his head was swirling with wine and Jamie's stories. They had talked for hours until Tyrion banished Jamie and Brienne to the baths and headed back to his rooms to see his wife. When he entered, Sansa was sitting with Lady Margaery doing needlepoint. Their backs were to him and they were giggling, seemingly unaware of his presence. He sat quietly by the door, listening and only managing to muster the tiniest amount of shame for eavesdropping.

"…And you said you'd never," Margaery teased and Sansa laughed.

"I also said I would grow up and be queen and make lots of little princes and princesses. Look where that got me," she said monotonously and Margaery laughed airily.

"It got you married to Tyrion Lannister so that instead of little princes and princesses, you will make little lions and lionesses, sit by the side of a man everyone makes fun of and share his bed every night," she said and Tyrion felt himself tense, throat constricting as Sansa set her needlepoint on her lap and turned to her friend.

"Yes," she said quietly and his breathing stopped. "And I would take that over the chance to be a goddess." Her voice was quiet but he could hear the same tone as the previous night when she whispered in his ear all the reasons why she found him attractive. His heart felt too large for his chest and tears stung his eyes. He opened the door silently and then closed it loudly, feigning an entrance. Sansa and Margaery stood up when he entered and his heart soared at the soft smile on his wife's face when their eyes met.

"Lady Margaery," he said inclining his head and she bobbed a curtsy, "you are looking as lovely as ever. Though, and you'll forgive me for saying, not as lovely as my beautiful wife. Then again, you would be hard pressed to convince me any woman is as beautiful as she." Sansa blushed and Margaery laughed.

"You do not need to explain yourself to me, my lord. Sansa is beautiful. It is lucky she got a husband who recognizes that." Sansa nudged her friend and shook her head. Tyrion pretended not to notice.

"They call me many things, my lady," he said, approaching them. "But stupid is not one of them." He took Sansa's hand and kissed it before flipping it over and brushing his lips over her palm, eyes glancing up to meet hers. Fire raced through her.

"You do not need to convince me of that, my lord. But I will leave now," she said slyly.

"Please, don't leave on my account," Tyrion said but he could see she knew that he wanted privacy.

"No it's fine," she insisted. "I promised I would meet my grandmother today to discuss wedding details. Besides, I'm sure you two have plenty of… catching up to do," she said mischievously. Sansa cleared her throat and glared at halfheartedly at her before she laughed and left, closing the door behind her.

"Hello, wife," Tyrion said, tugging Sansa to the bed. He climbed up and she followed after, sitting across from him, eyes sparkling with happiness.

"Hello, husband," she said before leaning in and capturing his lips in a kiss.

"How was your day," he asked after a few moments of kissing.

"Boring. I did needlepoint and spoke with Margaery."

"I thought you liked her," he asked in confusion while she played with his fingers.

"I do. I suppose that I just missed you today," she said quietly and he smirked at her.

"I have that effect on people." She rolled her eyes and grabbed her pillow, hitting him with it. He laughed and grabbed it, pulling it to the side and grabbing her, kissing her softly. "I missed you too," he said quietly and she sighed.

"How is your brother," she asked timidly. He sighed.

"In much worse condition than I ever imagined. It seems that a lackey of Lord Bolton cut off his hand." Sansa gasped in horror and he nodded. "Yes, that was my reaction also. He's quite bitter about it, especially coming back and finding the mess that has been made. He and my father argued quite heatedly about it. It was the first time I've ever seen Jamie stand up to my father, let alone yell at him."

"What were they arguing about," she asked softly. He sighed.

"Come here," he said holding out his arms and she tensed, sensing that bad news was coming. "Relax, Sansa. I simply know how much it pains you to speak of your family." She stared at him for a moment and then moved into his arms. He leaned back against the bed frame and she rested her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her protectively and kissed her forehead. "Your mother let Jamie go," he said finally and she tensed.

"Why would she do that?"

"It seems she made a deal with him. If she let him go, he would send you and your sister back to her, thus freeing you from Cersei's grasp. She sent her guard with him to ensure his safety but Bolton's man interfered. My father was most displeased to hear this."

"Why? My mother, she's… there's no one to send me to," she said softly. Did she want to go?

"Because a Lannister always pays his debts," he said cynically. "My father ensured that this debt could never be repaid by having us marry."

"Not to mention murdering my mother and brother," she added bitterly and he squeezed her shoulders.

"That too. I am so sorry, my dear. Jamie was very upset at the news. It would seem that his time away from our family has given him new insight. He respects and esteems your family; he was grieved to hear of what happened." Sansa nodded against his chest slightly. "Your mother's guard, Brienne, asked if she could meet you. It seems she greatly admired your mother and that she spoke of you often. I thought perhaps speaking with her might offer you some comfort." Sansa sat up, wiping tears from her cheeks.

"That would be wonderful," she said quietly and he sat up also.

"I invited her and Jamie to dine with us tonight. He wanted to convey his condolences in person. I also suspect that he's in love with Brienne and worries about Cersei and my father attempting to hurt her."

"I don't blame him," she said bluntly and he smiled.

"So tell me, how much did you miss me today," he asked and Sansa grabbed the pillow and hit him with it again but his question did what it was intended for; she was smiling again.

Tyrion and Sansa slept until Podrick came in to prepare for dinner. As Tyrion dressed himself, Sansa caught herself staring at him. The stretch of his muscles as he put a shirt on, followed by breeches and a tunic. He smoothed down his hair and her fingers literally itched to bury themselves in it. He stood proudly, tall and confident and while that was normally the posture he used, she could see the difference in it. He had pretended for so many years to be confident but since they had begun to put an effort into making their marriage a pleasant one, he walked with the confidence of a man who has everything he desires. She smiled as he unconsciously smoothed a hand over his front.

"You know when you stare at me like that, it makes it very hard to put clothes on," he said conversationally and she blushed at being caught. He smiled impishly and turned, eyes darkening as he stared at her. Her distraction with her husband's figure had stopped her from dressing. She sat in her shift, hair pulled back simply in the braid she used to wear at Winterfell. She raised a brow as his eyes remained locked on her.

"You're staring," she accused him. "And I'm not having any trouble putting clothes on."

"You will when I come over there and remove them," he said, voice low and gravelly and she felt heat spread through her before settling in her stomach. He began to approach her and she felt tensed, skin tingling with anticipation. He came up behind her, his head just coming over her shoulder as she was seated in front of her mirror. He kissed her neck and she sighed happily. He brushed his lips over the skin of her shoulder until he reached the strap of her shift and he grabbed it softly, moving it out of his way so his lips could continue their exploration. She reached behind and found his hand, linking their fingers. She wanted to tell him how right this felt, how she felt like there was a piece of her missing until he was there with her, touching her.

She wanted to tell him she loved him.

But what if he didn't love her back? It was one thing to respect your wife, you do your duty by her. Even their shared friendship before last night wasn't such a strange thing. Even last night didn't require proclamations of affection. Wasn't that why prostitution was a thriving business? Tyrion obviously cared for her, even more than his concern for her wellbeing. But that didn't mean he loved her. Sansa couldn't tell him. After her father had been killed, it was almost as if her skin had turned to steel to avoid the penetrating and sharp insults of the court. She had shut her heart away in a box so that no one could possibly break it further. But they had, hadn't they?

Her in-laws had broken her heart when they had her brother and mother murdered at a wedding. Joffrey had by singing of his triumph at every turn. Cersei had by reminding her that she was a Lannister now. But Tyrion hadn't. Tyrion had come to tell her about her family, to break it to her gently. But she'd already heard. It was all over the court that day and when Margaery offered her condolences, Sansa had been confused until she told her what had happened. Tyrion had held her, comforted her after that. He had let her talk about her family, speak freely of her feelings and even defended and protected her from his family. Tyrion had proven himself loyal and worthy of her heart. But did he want it?

"Sansa," he asked worriedly and she snapped from her reverie to meet his eyes.

"Sorry," she said. "I was just thinking."

"About what," he asked and she could see the insecurity in his eyes, the expectation of rejection.

"About our marriage. I was thinking about how far we've come since our wedding day all those months ago." He smiled and took her hand, kissing it before placing a kiss to her lips softly.

"Who would have thought," he mused and she smiled, brushing his hair from his forehead.

"I didn't," she admitted. "But I'm happy to say that I do now. I have a very poor history of choosing happiness for myself." He smiled softly and settled himself in between her legs, rubbing his hands on her thighs soothingly.

"Yes, you thought you'd be happy making little princes and princesses. Now you can be truly happy making little lions and lionesses," he said, kissing her jaw. She pulled away from him, frowning at him suspiciously.

"Why would you say that," she asked and he gulped, realizing his mistake.

"Because I am a Lannister," he offered halfheartedly. She glared at him and then her eyes widened in surprise.

"You were listening! You little sneak," she accused laughing and he folded his arms in mock outrage.

"Lies! I would never be so disgraceful as to listen to doors," he declared. She cocked an eyebrow and waited until he looked away. "I'd listen just inside the door," he mumbled and she laughed.

"What did you hear," she asked.

"Something about you thinking you'd never do something. And that you will forever sit beside a man at whom everyone laughs and share his bed." She stilled, waiting and his face became lovingly soft, his eyes bright with emotion. "And that you would rather be that than a goddess," he whispered, brushing his fingers over her jaw and then kissing her, softly at first but then heatedly as the memory of her voice when she spoke those words worked its way through his body, warming him like wine.

"I meant it," she said, pulling away from him to look into his eyes. "I am so happy with you. I will gladly have little lions and lionesses with you." He smiled but she could see the anxiety in the stiff set of his shoulders.

"Even if they are very little like me," he asked softly, afraid to look at her. She raised his chin to meet his eyes.

"Your stature may be shorter but it is no comparison to the height of your character," she whispered, kissing his forehead and he grabbed her hands, kissing the palms reverently.

"I do not deserve you," he whispered after a few moments, feeling tears sliding down his cheeks.

"Don't sell yourself short," she said softly, a smile on her face.

"Oh short jokes, as if I haven't heard all of those," he said sarcastically and she laughed softly. "Actually, I hadn't heard that one before," he added as an afterthought.

"I think you're a _little_ too upset about this," she teased and he growled, fingers moving to her sides. He began to tickle her and she squirmed under his grasp, trying to move away. He laughed with her.

"You seem a little _short_ of breath, my lady," he teased and she began to laugh harder. He continued to tickle her until she cried mercy and they both collapsed on the floor, laughing and breathless, hands joined and feeling completely content. She turned her head to look at him and he mirrored her, staring at her face and she could see something in his eyes; a soft warmth that made her stomach flip. His thumb brushed hers softly and she could feel the words crawling from her heart to her lips, seeking daylight. He worked his throat as though he wanted to say something as well.

"We should finish getting ready," he finally said and she nodded, sitting up and trying to hide the disappointment sinking in her stomach.

Was she more disappointed that she hadn't said anything or that he hadn't?


	6. Pretending

 

**The song for this chapter is Pretending by the Glee Cast. I guess it's an original song. I don't know. I don't watch Glee. I just troll Spotify.**

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Chapter Six: Pretending

Sansa was amazed at how fast time seemed to pass. It had been four months since Jamie's return to the capitol. Tywin and Cersei convinced Joffrey to formally release him from his oath to the King's Guard on account of the loss of his sword hand. Cersei was still livid with him on account of his telling her that he wanted nothing more to do with her. Tyrion had admitted to her after an incredibly awkward family dinner that the rumors about his siblings were true but since they had killed to keep it a secret, his family ignored it. Tywin suspected their truth but the embarrassment it would bring the family outweighed the need to be honest. Sansa had expressed her disgust which sparked a whole conversation about the Targaryens similar practice which lead to a long conversation about dragons, one of Tyrion's hidden passions.

Not all his passions were hidden, Sansa had learned early on in their relationship. While they did not share their passion with each other every night, she couldn't count how many times Tyrion would come back in the afternoon from this meeting or that and take her in the middle of a sentence. Their relationship had evolved into the kind of marriage Sansa had once dreamed about. She could come to Tyrion with an issue, concern or idle musing and he would listen. He would also come back to their rooms after a difficult day trying to fulfill his duty as Master of Coin and tell her of his problems. She had spent many a night with him, staying up, poring over parchments and books of numbers trying to find the solution to whatever problem was plaguing him.

Tyrion was attentive, passionate, gentle and fiercely loyal. He had won her over completely. She was even learning to enjoy people addressing her as Lady Lannister, knowing that he was her lord. While most of the court believed she had traitor's blood in her veins, her beauty and very presence demanded a semblance of respect. She seemed to command the attention of those she spoke to and she spoke to everyone. With the help of Lord Varys, she learned who everyone was at court and made sure to address them whenever she encountered them. People began to forget the dead king in the North and befriended Sansa again. When she and Tyrion had the misfortune of being mocked, they simply plotted revenge.

Sansa recalled the first noble to make a rude comment on her and Tyrion's nightly activities. When they heard him talking in the throne room, mocking her husband's ability to please her, she felt herself nearly vibrating with rage, especially after seeing Tyrion's hidden shame and self-doubt. The next afternoon she snuck in the lord's room and horse shifted his bed. She had tried for sheep but Podrick promised her that horse was just as effective if not more so. They had walked by the room that night on their way to Tywin's chambers for dinner. The room was turned upside down in chaos and the lord was green faced and shouting at servants to find it. Tyrion stared as they passed but remained silent.

_"Did you have something to do with that," he asked her after a moment._

_"With what, my lord," she asked, straight faced and all innocence._

_"You did, you wicked little wolf. What did you do, stick sheep dung in his mattress?"_

_"No, my lord," she said disinterestedly, as though discussing the weather, "I used horse dung." Tyrion stopped and stared at her and she was two feet away before she realized that he was no longer next to her. "What," she asked. "He insulted my husband. He insulted my husband about something that is not only private, but which he knows absolutely nothing about. I had to avenge your honor." He continued to stare at her before moving forward and grabbing her hands, kissing the palms._

_"You are perfection," he whispered and she laughed. "Truly. How did I end up with a wife who knows me so well?" She smiled and cocked a brow._

_"Your father wanted to rule the North so he forced you to marry the daughter of the Warden of the North," she said matter of factly._

_"Remind me to send my father a thank you gift and to never argue with him again," he said fervently and she laughed again before pulling him along the corridor._

_"How about you just share your gratitude with me," she asked suggestively, winking at him_.

Sansa's feelings for Tyrion had only intensified as time passed and yet she hadn't been able to bring herself to tell him how she felt. It went past a fear a rejection because all the time they had spent together, the things they had shared with each other had proved to her that he cared, beyond the call of duty. No, she couldn't tell him she loved him because in the Game of Thrones, caring for something meant that it could –and probably would –be used against you. It was safer for her to not admit how much she had come to rely on him than to risk someone finding out. She suspected that maybe he felt the same for her but he too kept quiet.

Despite their happiness, Sansa was still plagues with fears. After sharing a bed for four months, she was still not with child and she worried that there was something wrong with her, something broken inside of her that meant she wouldn't be able to provide him heirs. She didn't bring these fears to Tyrion, knowing he would just blame himself. She confided in Margaery after her wedding but she brushed it off, telling her that it would happen when the gods meant it to happen. Sansa refrained from telling her that the gods seemed to only have misfortune planned for those of Stark blood. Margaery had her own trials to deal with. Now that she was married to Joffrey, he had done what she and Tyrion had failed at and put an heir inside his wife. He strutted around the palace, still as cruel as ever but now performing violent acts in the name of his son. Thankfully, the presence of Tywin in the palace seemed to stop him from beating on her anymore, for which she was thankful.

Margaery had become rather ill since doing her wifely duty and Sansa visited her every day. But after their conversation today, Sansa was in search of her husband. Margaery had seemed weaker than usual today and when they had discussed Sansa's fears about confessing her love to Tyrion, Margaery grabbed her hand and squeezed it forcefully.

"This is a tenuous life we live," she said hoarsely. "No one ever expects this day to be their last. Your brother and mother went to a wedding for your uncle and didn't come back out. You must seize the opportunity and tell him. No woman has ever willingly loved him. You are the first and you will be the last. He deserves to know."

The conviction behind her words had stirred a crazy desperation in Sansa and she searched the palace for her husband, she felt more desperate by the minute. She felt in her heart that something horrible was going to happen. She didn't know how but the lead weight of dread that seemed to be weighing down her chest made her move through the palace corridors with barely concealed panic. She had looked in their chambers, the solar he usually conducted his affairs in as Master of Coin. He was nowhere to be found and neither was Lord Varys, who she was sure could have told her exactly where to find her husband without hesitation.

"Pardon, Lady Lannister," a voice said behind her and she whirled around. A squire stood before her, expression grim.

"What is it," she asked frantically.

"I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, milady," he said quietly and her stomach dropped.

~~~~~~AMS~~~~~~

Tyrion and Bronn sat in the tavern, two flagons of ale before them. Bronn sipped his steadily but Tyrion just rested his head on the table miserably. They'd just seen off an emissary from the Iron Bank demanding payment and Tyrion was drowning his sorrows, faced by the insurmountable debt that been incurred by the previous king and Littlefinger.

"We can't pay it back," he moaned again and Bronn sighed.

"Yeah, you've said that," he said tiredly. Tyrion fixed him with a glare before taking a generous gulp of ale.

"You don't understand; if we don't pay them back they will give money to Daenerys Targaryen. She will come here and sack the city and have all of our heads on spikes before we realize what is happening." Bronn shrugged.

"So find the money. Surely your father could give it to the realm. He does enjoy ruling ever so much," he said in a falsely chipper voice and Tyrion sighed.

"We're in debt with him too. I'm the Master of Coin. The solution isn't to run to my father and ask him to make this go away. I must come up with something else," he muttered.

"You need a distraction. Why don't you go find your wife and see if she'll do that thing with the rope again," he suggested thoughtfully. Tyrion rolled his eyes.

"I should never have told you about that. Why do I tell you things that you're better off not knowing?"

"Because I'm the closest thing you've got to a friend that isn't related to you or a eunuch,' he said simply and Tyrion realized her couldn't argue with that statement. Jamie and Brienne had wed in a quiet ceremony and left for Tarth a month ago and while they exchanged news by raven, it wasn't the same as having his brother with him. He and Sansa shared everything with each other but he didn't want to burden her with the hefty weight of this current trial. With the queen's illness, Sansa had become preoccupied and worried for her friend. At least, that's what she told him. He suspected that she was really distressed with some other concern and for some unfathomable reason felt like she couldn't come to him. They shared everything with each other but he could tell from her eyes that something wasn't right. After he 'educated' her, she would stare at him and he could see the anxiety shining in her eyes. Was she afraid of becoming with child? She had expressed such an excitement over the future prospect of having his children that he couldn't believe she wouldn't want it. But then why did that same haunted pain shine in her eyes every time she saw an infant or child? Was she really just frightened of motherhood and afraid he would think her silly?

The endless questions circled around his head in a constant flurry much like the blizzards on the Wall, obscuring his ability to see clearly. He knew that there was something that was bothering his wife and he was determined to find out what it was but he wouldn't push her into telling him. She trusted him enough that she would come to him with whatever fears were plaguing her when she was ready. In the meantime, he would enjoy making sweet love to her. He considered himself a blessed man. Sansa was just discovering her intimate cravings and he was more than pleased to allow her to practice and explore with him. He suspected Margaery of giving her ideas because he just couldn't believe that his sweet, innocent –if not impish –Sansa had thought to tie him to the bed and trace every inch of skin on his body with her lips and tongue. He felt his blood begin to boil with the very memory and his breeches tightened. He tossed a few coins on the table hastily and made his way from the tavern, ignoring Bronn's shouted words of advice echoing behind him.

He moved through the city, Bronn following behind at a distance, as fast as his short legs would carry him. He moved into the palace courtyard and up the front steps. He ran up the stairs to he and Sansa's chambers, cursing whoever it was that decided to build up so cursedly high. He threw the door open and leaned against it gasping. Sansa was standing in front of the window and he sighed.

"Thank the gods you're here. I need you…" he said before trailing off when Sansa turned. Her face was red, her eyes puffy bright with tears. She held a handkerchief to her mouth and he saw her chin wobble. "What's wrong," he asked, moving to her side and visually checking her over for any sign of injury. _Oh please gods, don't let it be another member of her family killed_ , he thought as she shook her head.

"It's Margaery," she said hoarsely, throat still tight with unshed tears. "She's dead." Tyrion watched her sink to the ground with the declaration and he sunk to his knees, arms immediately wrapping her in strong embrace. His heart felt heavy with the news but he couldn't help the small fragment of his soul that was relieved that it wasn't her. He held her close, murmuring soft words into her ear and placing kisses in her hair. She clung to him and while he was devastated by the loss of his niece and his wife's grief, his heart felt warmed knowing that she relied on him. He was her source of comfort, as she was his, and he would never get used to the feeling of having a woman willingly want to be with him with no ulterior motive. He longed to tell her he loved her, he could literally feel the words on the tip of his tongue as though they were tangible. But he knew that if he said it aloud, someone could hear and tell his father or sister or nephew who wouldn't hesitate at the chance to use this attachment against him to get what they wanted. No, the best thing for both of their safety was that he remain silent. That didn't diminish the unsatisfied ache in his chest formed from a need to hear her say what he already suspected.


	7. My Immortal

**The song for this chapter is My Immortal originally by Evanescence but I used the Vitamin Piano Series. Truly beautiful.**

**TISSUE ALERT! You have been warned.**

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Chapter Seven: My Immortal

Margaery's death hit the capitol hard, casting a gloom over everyone. The peasants liked her because of her generosity, the nobles because she was the queen, and a good one at that. But Tyrion didn't care about any of them but Sansa. She was the last person to have seen the queen aside from Maester Pycelle and apparently her last words haunted his wife. She confined herself to their room, staring out the window and crying one day, throwing her things around angrily the next. Tyrion had tried at first to offer comfort and calm but Sansa had pushed him away inexplicably, saying that she needed space to sort through her feelings. He would never force himself upon her in any manner and so he attended to his new problem of finding money to pay back the Iron Bank. He would stay up working long past moon-rise and when he went to their rooms, Sansa would usually be sleeping fitfully. He would climb into bed and hold her, watching her distress and pain ease slightly at the contact. Then he was up again before dawn, casting a loving and pained glance at her before he left.

He didn't know what to do about it and after several weeks of this new pattern, he was ready to start throwing things himself. He hadn't been able to find a solution to their debt yet and Varys had come to him weeks ago to tell him that a little bird had told him Daenerys Targaryen was boarding a fleet of ships with an army at least thirteen thousand strong and sailing for Westeros and the Iron Throne. This news was not well received since everyone blamed him, accusing him of failing to pay the debt so that the bank funded her assault on them. Tyrion tried to explain that he was still negotiating with the bank, that they had not written him off yet, but no one cared. He was their scapegoat and the false blame only fueled his anger and frustration. He was determined to find a solution but the imminent invasion called for him to find money to defend the city first. Reports claimed that Daenerys would be there within the fortnight.

Tywin had called a war council and demanded that Tyrion be there. He was unsure as to why be had a very good idea of what his father wanted. He hadn't been disappointed. As he walked back to his chambers, his heart was heavy, his stomach weighted down with lead. It hadn't been good news and he was loathe to share it with Sansa who was already in such a precarious emotional state, he wasn't sure she wouldn't fling herself from the window upon its utterance. He pushed open the door slowly and was surprised to find Sansa sitting at a table doing needlepoint. He entered cautiously in case she was in the mood to throw something at him.

"Sansa," he said quietly and she turned to him and graced him with a bright smile. It took him off guard after over a month of her tears and depressed spirits. He hadn't realized how much he missed it, almost like sunshine and warmth after a cold winter's day. It warmed him completely, filling his tired and depressed soul with light and strength. He strode to her, pulling her into a heated kiss, the first kiss they had shared in weeks. He kissed him back, her hands moving into his hair and pulling his face to hers, holding it there. He squeezed her to him, unable to stand any distance between them. She pulled from the kiss, breathless but eyes shining and rested her forehead against his.

"I'm sorry I pushed you away. Please forgive me," she whispered. He raised her chin with his thumb and brushed his lips over hers softly.

"There's nothing to forgive, darling," he said. She shook her head.

"There is. There are so many things that I need to beg your forgiveness for. But first you must tell me of the council with your father. Why did he want you there?" Tyrion's heart dropped. He had told her where he was going today, trying to include her in his routine, to have some semblance of the open marriage they had been enjoying before Margaery's death. He hadn't expected to come back to find her demeanor changed.

"Perhaps we should speak of something else," he said evasively, moving to pour them both a glass of wine.

"Is it that bad," he heard he ask faintly behind him and he sighed, setting the wine down. He turned to face her and he saw just how weakly she was holding herself together. It was as if she were holding a shattered wine glass, attempting to make it keep its shape while wine poured through the cracks and through her fingers. He approached her, taking her hands in his and feeling the trembling of her fingers.

"My father, Joffrey and I will be leading an ambush. We are going to try and head them off before they can reach the capitol. And… we leave in the morning," he said and she bowed her head, shaking it from side to side. "It will be fine," he started but she cut him off.

"No it won't," she said, raising her head and he could see her face contorted in pain, the tears already streaming down her face. "It won't be fine. I have heard what people are saying about this girl and her army. She has _dragons_ , Tyrion. No one will get close enough to her to stand a chance." She stood, pacing around the room while he watched helplessly. "You can't go. I won't let you. We can leave the city. We'll sneak out. We can ask Lord Varys to assist us."

"Sansa," he said but she continued, muttering to herself and pacing around the room like the caged wolf of her house. "Sansa!" She stopped, her eyes flying to his at his raised voice. He shook his head.

"We cannot escape this. No," he reiterated when she made to argue. "We cannot escape this. I must go with my father in the morning." She sat down, dejected. "But if this is to be the last night that I see your beautiful face, I do not want tears," he said, gently wiping away the tears and she smiled sadly at him.

"If this is to be your last night with me," she said softly, "I plan to make it the most memorable night of your life." She pressed her lips to his softly, deepening it when he moved his hands to cup her face.

Later, as they quietly in bed, his hands moving through her hair and her hands brushing along his jaw tenderly, he knew that this was the moment, his last chance to tell her that he loved her, to let her know that if he didn't come back, she would always have his heart and soul and everything attached to it. If he didn't tell her now, he would never get the chance to.

"Sansa," he murmured softly. "If I… If I don't come back, I have to tell you-" She stopped his mouth with her fingers, replacing them softly with her lips.

"You are going to come back to me," she whispered determinedly. "This is not the end." He stared into her eyes, desperately wanting to believe her.

"But if I don't," he continued but she shook her head.

"You will come back to me. I cannot bear to think about alternatives, Tyrion. I will not survive your absence if I consider the possibility that we will not see each other again. You have gone into battle before and come back alive. Injured, yes. Scarred, yes. But you came back. That is all I want to think about." She kissed him again, lifting her body back onto his and he found it impossible to argue, clinging to her hope like a lifeline.


	8. Bring Him Home

 

**The song for this chapter is Bring Him Home from the Broadway show Les Miserables. The version is used is by Susan Boyle. Moving and I just love this song. I grew up listening to Les Mis and so I only have a few solid favorites and this is one of them (though you can't go wrong with Master of the House, it just didn't feel right for this chapter ;) )**

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Chapter Eight: Bring Him Home

Sansa stared out the window at the flames before her. She listened disinterestedly to the pounding of feet and yelling outside the window and in the corridor. Her eyes remained on the flames, her heart burning with it, turning her to ash.

They hadn't been able to stop her. Daenerys had come.

She had offered them the ability to surrender but Cersei wouldn't hear of it, refusing her and killing the envoy. The city had prepared for battle but without the forces that Tywin had taken with he and the king to try and head her off, it was a useless exercise. Sansa watched as they grew closer to the city, moved through Cersei's defenders like a knife through butter. Sansa couldn't bring herself to care, to run and hide. If Daenerys had made it to the city, it meant that Tyrion was…

But he was lucky and resourceful. Sansa had to believe that he had escaped death again and was making his way back to her. She had stationed herself at the window days ago, when the attack first began and willed herself to see his short figure moving through the crowds, through the flames, coming to her, for her. He had to be out there. If he wasn't, her life was scarcely worth living. He was her protector, her lover, her best friend, her confidante, her comforter, her everything. Without him, what was there to live for? She had no one left but him. She couldn't lose him!

What ill deed had she done to merit the wrath of the gods on her family? Nearly all of them had perished and Tyrion had been there to pick her up, to banish the shadows and nightmares that plagued her, both waking and sleeping. He had opened the world up for her to show her that love did exist and grow from the most unlikely of places. She had wept when he told her that they were to be married; she hadn't even waited for him to leave the room before sobbing. Then, it had seemed like the end of the world. She would have to stay at King's Landing and be married to a dwarf, a Lannister. It had seemed the cruelest twist of fate.

But now… gods, now she couldn't imagine sharing herself with anyone else. No one could make her laugh like Tyrion could, even in the most unlikely of circumstances when all she felt like doing was crying.

"Father, Mother, Warrior, Maiden, Smith, Crone, Stranger," she whispered softly, "I do not know what I have done to offend you. For any grievance I have caused you, I apologize most humbly. I cannot ask you to give me my parents back, or my brother. But I beg you to return my husband to me. I need him. He is the most loyal, caring men that I have ever met and it would be a crime to end his life. I will offer my life as forfeit for his. It was my pleadings to the king that led my father to be branded a traitor and killed. I begged my mother for the betrothal that brought our household to this city… to their deaths. My life means nothing. But Tyrion has done so much to better the lives of those in the city, to save us. He saved me. As such, I owe him my life and I offer that to you now for his. Just let him live." Her voice broke and she sank to the ground, sobs wracking her body.

A knock at the door caused her heart to stop. Had the gods heard her prayer? Varys entered, looking harried and yet completely calm.

"Lady Sansa," he greeted in his usual soft way. "I need you to come with me," he said with a half smile.

"I cannot. I cannot leave. Not until Tyrion returns." She watched his face soften, his eyes fill with pity.

"I'm afraid there's no alternative. Your husband charged me with ensuring your safety above all else before he left with his father. I do not break my promises, my lady."

"Tyrion spoke with you," she asked desperately. Varys nodded.

"He did. That is why I need you to accompany me, my lady. Time is short," he said and Sansa bit her lip to keep the tears from starting again. She stood and followed him quickly from her room. He led her through the corridors, moving through the halls like a shadow.

"Where are we going?"

"I am taking you someplace safe. You will stay there until I come for you. No one must see you or know you are there. Do you understand, Sansa?" If she was hidden, how would Tyrion find her?

"What about you? You must hide also." He smiled mockingly.

"I'm afraid I have nothing to fear. I have some little birds very close to our soon to be queen that will vouch for my life. I will then vouch for yours. I will tell Daenerys of your misfortunes at the hand of Joffrey and his mother and beg her to grant you clemency in her new kingdom."

"What about Tyrion?"

"My dear, I care about your husband deeply but I cannot ignore the truth that he has most likely already perished at the hands of the Mother of Dragons." Sansa stopped.

"He is not dead," she hissed. Varys stared at her for a moment then bowed his head.

"Forgive me. A woman's intuition is a source that I do not possess," he said before leading her down more dark corridors until they reached a dark, nondescript door. He unlocked it with a key seeming produced from thin air. He led her inside where a small bed and table sat with candles burning eerily.

"It will take time, my lady, but I will plead for you." She turned to him.

"Thank you, Lord Varys. If you see Tyrion, you must bring him to me." Varys regarded her silently before nodding.

"As you wish, my dear." He left, locking the door behind him and Sansa sat on the bed, staring into the darkness. Then she knelt on the ground and began to chant endless prayers for her husband, begging for the man that she loved to come home if only so she could tell him that.


	9. What I've Done

**The song for this chapter is What I've Done originally by Linking Park but the version I am using is Marie Digby. Absolutely moving and beautiful.**

**TISSUE WARNING! You should just buy stocks in them already.**

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**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not the Iron Throne, not the North and definitely not Tyrion Lannister. But oh the things I could do if I did.**

Chapter Nine: What I've Done

Sansa was in there for days, waiting. Varys would bring her food or send one of his little birds to do it for him but they never brought any news with them. Sansa barely slept but kept up her vigil of praying. After the tenth tray of food, she sat against the wall and stared ahead.

Her vision was filled with memories of her family. Her father telling her how pretty she looked and presenting her with Lady. Her mother had been appalled at the idea of a lady having a direwolf, but Sansa loved her from the start. She hugged her father fiercely, proclaiming her eternal love for him. He had laughed and kissed her forehead, returning the sentiment.

Her mother laying in bed with her while her quiet soothing voice vanquished the nightmare that had woken her to tears. She had told her of the deep waters of Riverrun, the adventures she and her siblings shared as children on the banks, throwing rocks in and laughing. Her hand ran through her hair, calming her racing heart as she pictured the water her mother described, so different from the pool in the Godswood.

Robb practicing their dancing lessons with her, laughing when she stepped on his toes. He would make faces at her to try and make her laugh and misstep, much to the consternation of the septas supervising them.

Jon reading to her when she was sick and couldn't get out of bed. His soothing voice was deep and measured, twisting the stories of dashing knights and bloodied highwaymen until they seemed to come to life.

Arya's smiling face as they snuck food from the kitchens, trying to stay quiet so as not to wake the sleeping house. They had been in the Godswood, playing knights and maidens –Arya was the knight, of course –and had missed dinner, banished to their rooms for making their father come look for them. After the halls were silent, they snuck down to find leftovers and spirit them away back to their room.

She recalled holding Bran when he woke from his sleep, screaming and crying. She had told him stories of the North, the histories of the great houses, smoothing her hand on his forehead and hair to calm him. He'd begged her for scarier stories, something dark and dangerous but she had refused him.

She remembered holding Rickon after he fell out of a tree and broke his leg, trying to follow Bran. She had held him while Maester Luwin set the bone and tied the leg to branches to keep it straight. He had cried, fat tears rolling down his little cheeks and Sansa and kissed them away, murmuring sweet nothings in his ear to calm him.

Her memories twisted, turning sour. Her father's face right before he lost his head. She imagined her mother's face, twisted in pain and fear, covered in blood as Roose Bolton and his men killed Robb. Robb, broken and laying face down in a pool of blood on Walder Frey's floor. Arya lost and alone in the wilderness, covered in dirt and shivering as she tried to find something to eat, men bigger than she chasing her. Bran, pale and weak as he laid beneath his furs in his bed before she left Winterfell. Rickon's scared face when they carried Bran from the tower into the house, his body still and white.

The last memory she saw was of strong hands moving up her arms, the golden hair on them catching the light. The fingers were rough, the product of too much time sharpening quills and shuffling papers. His handsome face turned to hers happily, a tender smile pulling his lips up slightly as she shivered under his touch. Their lips moved closer and he brushed them against hers confidently, his hand moving to the base of her neck to pull her face closer. His tongue entered her mouth and she could remember the feel of it battling for dominance with hers while he moved closer, the hair on his chest brushing against her bare chest and making her moan with the sensation. His thigh moving between her legs and brushing against her womanhood before pressing against her deliciously.

Sansa laid down on the floor, sobs wracking her body, beating her fists against the stones beneath her and begging the gods to let her die.

The door opened and Varys entered, followed by a woman she didn't recognize. She had hair so blonde it was almost white, braided and her face was soft, young but her eyes held a hardness only gained by experiencing loss and heartache. Sansa imagined that this must be the new queen, Daenerys.

"Sansa, this is Daenerys Targaryen," Varys said softly. "I have been telling her about you."

"Hello," Daenerys said quietly, her eyes regarding Sansa thoughtfully as she clambered to her knees and then feet, dropping into a curtsy. "Lord Varys has been telling me of your family," she said kindly and Sansa braced herself. "I'm very sorry for your losses. I, too, know what it feels like to have those you love stripped away from you."

"Thank you, your grace," Sansa said quietly.

"I understand you were married to a Lannister," she said after a moment and Sansa tensed. "I'm told that he was with the forces that went to meet us. I am sorry to tell you that there were no survivors from the battle." Sansa couldn't think. She felt like she wasn't in her body, like she was watching all of this happen from somewhere else. Daenerys expressed her sympathy several times until Sansa focused on her again. She felt something hot hit her hand and looked down, startled to find a droplet of water on her skin. She reached up and felt her cheeks, wet with hot tears.

"I've given it thought and consulted with my advisors and I see no reason that you should have to pay for your husband's family's crimes. Consider yourself welcome to live here at the palace or you may return to Winterfell, if that is your wish. I know how hard it can be to be away from home." She left and Sansa stared after her before collapsing to the floor, feeling as though her world just ended.


	10. Radioactive

 

**The song for this chapter is Radioactive originally by Imagine Dragons (I see a GoT reference there... and everywhere) but I'm doing the cover by Mr. Tyler Ward.**

**TISSUE ALERT! We are not done with our angst fest yet. In fact you don't like angst, then this story is going to really disappoint you.**

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Chapter Ten: Radioactive

Tyrion begged for death.

He knelt before Daenerys, his father and Joffrey in the same position to his left. They hadn't surprised Daenerys at all. She was waiting for them by the sea. Her dragons made quick work of their soldiers and her Unsullied had captured the three of them and they had been towed back to King's Landing. He had begged anyone they saw for information about his wife but no one knew what happened to her and he prayed that Varys had kept his promise. Cersei was dead, poisoning herself and Tommen when the enemy had breached the Throne Room. Tyrion felt sick at the thought and prayed to the Seven for his nephew to be granted safe passage and comfort in the Night Lands.

"Joffrey of house Baratheon, first of your name, you are charged with the following crimes against the people of King's Landing and the Seven Kingdoms," Daenerys proclaimed. As she began to list off all the crimes and cruelties that Joffrey had committed, Tyrion reflected on his own life and crimes. Would she even bother to address them or would she simply accuse him of being born a Lannister and have him beheaded in spite of his feelings about how his nephew ruled? Tyrion couldn't pretend that he wasn't afraid of the death he was sure was coming. He never wanted to die, not in this fashion.

Since he married Sansa, he had always pictured he would die in his bed, his arms around her and hers around him, their children and grandchildren surrounding them with saddened faces. She would still be beautiful, even in her advanced age. And then it wouldn't matter when Death came to take them because everything would be right in the world. His worries and fears would be banished and he would know that even if he had ruined everything else good in his life, he hadn't ruined that. He hadn't ruined her. He had protected her. He'd made her happy. They'd had children and grandchildren and lived untouched by the cruelty of his family, ensconcing themselves at Winterfell and spending their days riding through the Wolfswood or the Godswood.

His reverie was broken by the singing of a sword slicing through the air followed by the wet thud of a head hitting the floor. He saw Joffrey's eyes staring blankly past him as blood poured from his neck onto his face. Tyrion swallowed, the imminence of death seizing him and coating his heart with ice, the freezing cold of the Wall seeming to move through his body. Tywin didn't meet his eye, didn't even acknowledge his presence as he glared down the new queen. Tyrion tried to find Varys but his so-called friend wasn't to be found among the lords and ladies near the queen. He knew he had been pardoned, that Jorah Mormont had vouched for him with the queen. Had he managed to get Sansa to safety? Tyrion would gladly welcome death if his wife had already suffered it at someone else's hands. Life without her was completely without merit. Had the queen already taken her head as punishment for bearing the last name of Lannister? Or was she still alive, laying in some dungeon waiting for the next man to come and do despicable things to her? Tyrion's blood boiled at the thought but he had to trust Varys to have saved her.

He had spoken for him as well but the queen wouldn't hear of it. She told him that to spare one Lannister would give her enemies a rallying point and tell her enemies and people that she was weak. Tyrion couldn't blame her. He knew that were it him, he would worry for his safety and the loyalty of his people if he allowed the advisors and family of the ruler he had conquered to live. Had Sansa been killed then? She was a Lannister and he didn't doubt that there were several people in court who would gladly sell out his wife in an attempt to gain favor with the new ruler. It was no matter.

He would join her shortly.

He was pulled from his thoughts again as he felt the spray of hot blood hit his cheek. He looked over wildly and saw that his father had suffered the same fate as his grandson. Tyrion had every reason to wish his father dead. He'd been given many from his birth. But as he watched the blood pour from his father's body, he felt an ache in his heart because despite his hatred for him, his father had always done right by him. He had given him everything, entrusted him with power and reputation, even praised him in his quiet, stiff way. He had liked Sansa, seen her as a daughter and not just the blood of his enemy. While his daughter and her children brought no honor to the family name, he had stood by them. Family came first and Tywin had always done that, if not misguidedly, at least loyally.

"Tyrion Lannister," Daenerys said and he looked at her before bowing his head in resolve, closing his eyes and picturing Sansa's sweet, smiling face as she lay in bed next to him, the morning sun catching her fiery hair and making it look as though it were aflame, the echo of her laughter surrounding him like a blanket, warming him as the queen proceeded to pass judgment on his life.

 _I am coming, my sweet Sansa_.


	11. Brave

 

**The song for this chapter is Brave originally by Josh Groban  but I am using the cover by the MAGNIFICENT Peter Hollens! EVERYONE should look him up and play this song while you are reading. Trust me.**

**TISSUE ALERT! While I don't think this chapter is nearly as angsty or depressing as some of the, er, previous chapters, it will probably make you cry. Most likely. Almost definitely.**

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Chapter Eleven: Brave

Sansa abandoned her packing to answer the pounding on her door. She'd tried to ignore it, not interested in speaking with anyone after her conversation with Daenerys but whoever it was refused to relent. She was packing her things to head back to Winterfell. Varys told her of the destruction of her childhood home but he assured her that Tyrion had already started men working on restoring it shortly after they were married. She didn't delight in returning there. She didn't want to go anywhere. She spent her days in her room, mourning her husband and crying. Any strength that she had died with him. She flung the door open with a dismal on her lips but it died as she saw Lord Varys leaning breathless against her doorframe, pale as death.

"Lady Sansa… Tyrion… you must hurry," he gasped out.

"What," she asked breathlessly, hope lifting her like a bird against her will.

"Tyrion," Varys said, more composed. "He's not dead. The queen had him as a prisoner. But she's passing judgment now. I tried to speak for him. She wouldn't listen. You must go now." Sansa didn't hesitate. She took off running through the halls of the palace, pushing people aside. Her lungs burned and her legs felt like they were going to freeze and stiffen on her. She flew through the stone corridors like a blur, mind spinning in confusion and horror. What if she was too late? What if she arrived just a second too late? This thought pushed her harder until her entire body screamed with the protest.

She finally arrived at the throne room but two Unsullied guarded the doors. She tried to push past them but they refused to budge. She told them who she was, what the queen was about to do but she might as well have been talking to a wall. She began to yell, hoping her voice would penetrate the thick doors and someone would open them. Varys appeared behind her a moment later and nodded to them. They bowed and stepped aside, opening the doors for her.

"… for the crimes you have committed against the crown and the people, I sentence you to death by beheading," she heard Daenerys proclaim to the room. Her eyes sought out what the queen was looking at and she saw him. Her heart soared at the sight of him kneeling on the floor, head bowed and shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Stop," she called into the room as a man with a sword moved towards him. Everyone turned to stare at her except him and she waited until slowly, almost as though he was afraid it was a dream, he turned around to face her. Their eyes met and she watched as his face morphed from shock to relief until he was furiously blinking away tears unsuccessfully. He looked like hell. His face was dirty and soot stained. His clothes were ripped and frayed, his hair matted with dirt and sweat. But it had never been so good to see him. She felt tears in her own eyes but she blinked them away, determined to be with her husband… one way or another.

"Lady Sansa, come forward. Did you have something you wished to add," Daenerys called in confusion and Sansa returned her attention to the queen. Sansa moved closer to the throne, her eyes frequently finding her husband. She ached with the longing to drop on her knees beside him and hold him, kiss him. But she remained in her rigid posture, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. She moved until she stood next to her husband and stared the queen in the eye.

"Your grace, I wish to beg you to pardon this man." There were gasps of disbelief and hisses of disapproval around the room. Sansa ignored them, focused on the queen who frowned slightly.

"Pardon him? Lady Sansa, do you know what Lord Tyrion has done?" Sansa's eyes narrowed perceptibly.

"I do, your grace. In the Battle of Blackwater Bay, he saved the entire city by using wildfire to destroy the majority of Stannis's fleet. After the king left the battle to hide in his chambers, Lord Tyrion rallied the men and personally led the attack on the gates, thus helping to save everyone in the city. He has worked relentlessly to save the kingdom from a debt incurred by his predecessor and King Robert. He saved me," she said and Daenerys began to frown deeper. "By marrying me, he saved me from the forward and unwelcome advances of his sadistic nephew. He showed me the beauty in a world I thought was ruled by death and misery.

"This man is my husband, your grace," she said and Daenerys's eyes widened. "If you would kill him, you must kill me also. I have committed atrocities which will haunt me for the rest of my life. It was my pleadings to King Joffrey which led to my father being branded a traitor and beheaded even though he had done nothing but what was honorable and right. It was my letter to my brother Robb that moved him to take up arms and call our banner men to fight against the Lannisters, thus leading him into a war which he and my mother paid for with their lives. The blood of my family stains my hands and I shall never be able to scrub it away.

"So if you would kill my husband, your grace, you must also put the sword to my neck. For a world without him would be like a night without the moon or the stars. I am his wife and I will remain with him until time ends." She looked down at him and then kneeled while he shook his head, a saddened expression turning his mouth down.

"Don't do this," he whispered but she shook her head.

"I am yours and you are mine, from this day to the end of my days," she whispered back. He smiled sadly, brow furrowing in sorrow.

"It doesn't have to be the end of your days," he whispered brokenly. She kissed his cheek softly.

"Yes it does," she breathed. Daenerys stood from her new throne and came to kneel before them.

"I had a love like yours at one time," she said quietly and Sansa could see the heartbreak in her eyes. "He was my world, my sun and stars and I was the moon of his life." She stopped and Sansa saw her throat working silently. "Our love will never diminish. Not until the sun sets in the West and the rivers run dry and the mountains blow in the wind like leaves. And it is because of that that I am doing this." She stood and addressed the room.

"Lady Sansa, though she blames herself, has committed no crimes. Lord Varys has vouched for her life and I have seen fit to grant it. If Lord Tyrion pledges fealty to me, I will grant him pardon. This is my final decision." She clapped and an Unsullied moved forward, releasing Tyrion's wrists from the manacles restraining him. His arms immediately enveloped Sansa and she felt her pain and fears melt away in his touch, tears stinging her eyes. A guard helped them to their feet and Tyrion took her hand, kissing it and bowing. They turned and walked from the throne room, heads held high as Daenerys dismissed the crowd gathered there. They walked hurriedly back to their chambers and entered before Sansa fell to her knees and placed kisses all over Tyrion's face, her hands moving over him to inspect for injury.

"I thought you were dead," she cried, unable to stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks. Tyrion's eyes and cheeks were wet also and he cupped her face in his hands, placing gentle kisses on her skin.

"So did I," he said.

"The queen… she said no one survived the battle," Sansa asked in confusion.

"No one did. My father, Joffrey and I were behind the company, trying to find a way to kill the dragon. Her men captured us before we could do anything. I've been in the dungeon since then. She… she killed Joffrey and my father."

"I'm just happy _you're_ here," she said, wrapping him in a tight embrace.

"I can't believe that you told her to kill you, too," he said in disbelief and she stared at him. "Am I really worth dying for?" She grasped his face in her hands and stared into his eyes with an intensity that seemed to burn him.

"Yes, you are."

"No I'm not. There's no reason for you to die for me," he said.

"I have a reason. I love you," she said and his heart stopped.


	12. Locked Out Of Heaven

 

**The song for this chapter is Locked Out of Heaven originally by Bruno Mars (blah) but my version is by Tyler Ward. (I really don't like original artists very much)**

**I don't know if you'll need tissues. Maybe happy tears?**

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Chapter Twelve: Locked Out of Heaven

He stared at her, shocked by her confession. After so many months of wondering if she felt it too, suspecting her of it but maintaining silence, it took him off guard to hear the words granted life. Sometimes he wondered if she could love him. He was a dwarf and so much less than what she deserved and while it was obvious that she felt a deep affection for him, love was so much more than he deserved from her. She watched him quietly, waiting for him to say something.

"You… you love me," he asked, voice hoarse, disbelief coating the words. Her eyes shined.

"I love you. I would suffer a thousand deaths for you because a life without you in it wouldn't be worth living. You are everything to me, Tyrion. You have withstood my anger and spite, my pain and sorrows. You have lifted me up, strengthened me when there was nothing left to be strong for. You have shown me love when I thought that it was a fairytale, a wisp of smoke. I have tried every day to show you how completely I love you since I couldn't bear to tell you and lose you. If I have nothing else in this life but you, it will be a happier life than I could ever imagine." She waited, a single tear streaming slowly down her face. He brushed it away gently and she leaned into his hand. He leaned in and brushed his lips over hers.

"Say something," she whispered and he could hear the doubt in her voice, the belief that even now she wasn't enough. He pulled her head to his breast, wrapping his arms around her desperately, fighting tears of his own.

"My darling, silly Sansa. I have waited a lifetime to hear those words," he whispered. "I did not think it would happen. But I also never thought that I would be married to a woman as beautiful and extraordinary as you, my dear, sweet Sansa. You have shown me that strength is not measured in the ability to wield a sword or beat a man down but is instead carried deep within ourselves. I am a dwarf and that has always been the only thing people think or see about me. But with your love I have known what it is to feel taller than all other men. I have risen higher than I ever thought possible and it is thanks to you. You are the kindest, strongest, most beautiful woman I have ever met and the gods were smiling on me when they united us that day on the altar. I have worked effortlessly since that day to give you everything you deserve and more but I never expected you to love me back. Because I love you, Sansa. I would go to war for you, die if it meant that you were safe. I would never drink another glass of wine for the rest of my life as long as I was blessed with the sweetness of your kisses and words." Her tears were harder now and he pulled her closer, claiming her lips with his, letting all of the emotions he had been hiding for months seep through his lips into hers.

She responded in the same manner and pulled him closer, pressing herself against him and still feeling like it was not close enough, like they would never be close enough until they were one person, one skin, one heart. He pulled away after a moment, unable to dismiss the nagging thoughts at the back of his mind.

"Do you really believe that you are responsible for your family's deaths," he asked her, searching her face and she did not disappoint him. Shame and self-loathing filled her eyes.

"Yes," she whispered. "I begged Joffrey, I sent that letter. I begged my mother to tell my father to let us come here, to accept the betrothal. If I hadn't my family might have been spared. Cersei wouldn't have been able to use me as a pawn to manipulate he and my brother." She was crying, clinging desperately to him. He wrapped his arms around her, placing a kiss to the top of her forehead.

"No one is to blame for all of that except my sister and her son," he said firmly. "Even if your father had refused the betrothal, his discovery of Cersei's children's true father would have still led Cersei to act against him. He was an honorable man and while that is a commendable trait, it made it easy to control and hurt him because he expected her to do the right thing and that was his weakness. You had nothing to do with any of that. Your bother took up arms against my family because we imprisoned your father, not because you sent a letter telling him to pledge fealty to Joffrey. He and your mother lost their lives because my father ordered them killed. You are _not_ to blame." She sobbed into his chest and he held her, placing kisses on her head and running his fingers through her hair softly.

When she had calmed down she leaned back and gently touched the dried blood on his face.

"I'm sorry about our father," she said softly. He raised a brow in challenge. "I am. He may have been demanding and killed my family but he treated me respectfully. I know that he was proud of you, too." Tyrion snorted quietly. "Truly, Tyrion. He would not have asked you to act as Hand if he had not."

"I think I may have surprised him a few times. But I was never the son he wanted me to be. I wasn't Jamie," he said, not bitterly but with an edge of jealousy.

"You think your father thought Jamie was perfect? He had it easy? I heard your father tell Jamie on his wedding day that Brienne wasn't the wife he would have picked for him but who else was going to marry a man with only one had, even a Lannister. I think your father thought Jamie was just as flawed as you. The difference was Jamie's actions, not his height, that made him a disappointment." Tyrion stared at her in awe.

"I love you. I do not think I can ever say that enough." She smiled wider.

"I do not think I could ever hear it enough," she said, eyes sparkling with mirth and he laughed.

"Then I shall just have to tell you every day, little wolf," he said and she laughed.

"As shall I, my little lion man." He feigned offense.

"Oh, again with the _little_ ," he said in mock outrage.

"The gods let everything grow to perfection; you just reached it before the rest of us," she teased and he laughed.

"Very clever, little wolf," he said, grinning at her. She grinned back cheekily. Then her face softened.

"You are my little lion man, Tyrion," she said, caressing his face softly. "Everyone doubts you because of your size. They don't know that you have the heart of a lion beating in your chest." He turned his head and kissed her palm, grabbing her other hand and holding it against his chest so that she could feel his heartbeat.

"You know, my darling wife, I almost died today," he said playfully as she kissed his neck softly. "I think that means I must celebrate the continuation of my life doing activities that make me feel… alive." He gasped the last word as he felt her hand brush against the bulge in his breeches and when she spoke, he could hear the smile in her voice.

"What did you have in mind," she asked, dragging her lips and teeth over the shell of his ear.

He smiled.


	13. Yellow Light

**The song for this chapter is Yellow Light by Of Monsters And Men (they just write really good songs for this).**

**Ya'll better be ready to pucker up because here comes a LEMON!**

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Chapter Thirteen: Yellow Light

"Oh gods, that feels good," Tyrion groaned, his muscles relaxing. Sansa laughed, removing her clothes and stepping into the tub. Tyrion felt parts of him hardening at the sight of her as she sunk into the water, submerging herself under the water and then reemerging with water trickling down her neck. She sighed contentedly and then smirked when she saw his eyes fixed on hers.

"Are you feeling alive yet," she asked him cheekily and he laughed, the deep, rich tones echoing around their room.

"Much more alive than I have felt since I left you, my love. There must be magic in hot water." She laughed, settling her legs on either side of his hips.

"This wasn't the activity I was expecting you to ask for," she admitted with a grin and he smiled.

"Well, I couldn't make love to you covered in blood and dirt."

"Hmm," she said thoughtfully, grabbing the bar of soap from behind him –giving him a spectacular view of her wet, naked chest –and lathering some onto her hand. "I think you're right." She began to rub the soap on his arms and neck, digging her fingers firmly into his sore muscles and he groaned as he felt the tension leaving his body like it was seeping into the water. Sansa continued to scrub and massage his body, moving from his arm to his neck and shoulders then to the other arm. She grabbed his legs under the water and pulled one up to soap it, followed by the other. After they were soapy, she submerged them and began to knead the tight muscles. Tyrion laid his head back and closed his eyes, the feel of her fingers working the aching muscles causing him to relax and tense with need all at once.

Her fingers worked their magic on him, cleansing his body and loosening his muscles until the water was barely warm. He must have dozed off near the end because he became aware of her body against his, her breasts pressed against his chest and her womanhood brushing his stirring member as her lips caressed his ear, calling his name softly.

"Mmm, I could wake up like this every day," he murmured and she let out a breathless laugh. "I could also go to a bed with a bath like this every night." His hand moved up to her hip to stroke it softly before squeezing.

"The water is getting cold," she said, pulling back and climbing out of the tub. She wrapped herself in some linen and Tyrion, who had been climbing out after her, froze, eyes locked on the white cloth that was now clinging to her body, the water turning the fabric from opaque to translucent. She twisted the water from her hair and then laid it gently on her shoulder before turning to give Tyrion a cloth. She saw his jaw slack and eyes fixed on hers and she felt fervor move through her body like dragon flames. His eyes were darker and she saw the look of glazed arousal which only fueled the fervor to consume her. She handed him the linen and then turned to her mirror, braiding her hair quickly, attempting to calm her racing heart. He dried himself off and wrapped the cloth around his waist. He approached her from behind and pulled on her shoulder gently, turning her to face him.

He crashed his lips to hers, moving with the desperate need of a man who thought his life had ended and had been granted a second chance. She moaned and buried her fingers in his wet curls, holding his head to hers. He pulled her closer until her legs locked around his waist and his hands were moving over her back and hips. She ground her hips against his and he groaned, gripping her sides tightly.

"I thought I was dead," he murmured moving his lips from hers to her jaw and neck. She hummed in pleasure. "I thought I'd never get to touch you again."

"That would have been a tragedy," she said, gasping in pleasure when his teeth dragged against her collarbone before he dipped his mouth down and pulled at the linen with his teeth, releasing it from her body so that it fell and pooled between them. His mouth continued to move downward, tongue darting out to taste the soft skin. Her fingers were wound in his hair, pulling and pushing him closer. His lips brushed her nipple and he grinned to himself when she cried out at the contact. His tongue moved over the pink aureole slowly, sweeping along the pebbled skin. Her breaths were short and he brushed her womanhood with his fingers, causing her to squirm and flex her legs still locked around his waist. The pressure pulled him closer so that he thrust against her and he growled.

He backed away, pulling her behind him to the bed, where he climbed up and began to kiss her again, pushing her down against the pillows and pressing himself against her. She grabbed him and pushed him gently, rolling them both over until she was hovering above him. She moved against him and he felt his muscles tense in ecstasy.

"I almost lost you," she whispered in his ear, brushing herself against him teasingly and he growled and pulled at her hips. "I'm so happy that I didn't."

"How happy," he asked, distractedly, pushing against her. She didn't answer but began to move, kissing her way across his jaw to his neck, sucking at the pulse point there. _Who would have thought necks could be so erotic_ , he thought to himself. She kissed his collarbone and then lower to his abdomen, brushing her nose along the skin and causing goosebumps to rise. She kissed continued kissing and then raised her head, meeting his surprised eyes before she smiled saucily. She leaned down, gripping his cock with one hand and pressed her lips to the tip and his hips jumped erratically. She looked up at him and stared down at her, swallowing at the sight of her.

Her hand began to rub up and down his staff and he moaned. Suddenly he felt her tongue against the head and it was like his blood was filled with effervescent wine.

"Seven hells," he moaned. "You're a devil, little wolf."

She took him into her mouth, sucking gently and his hands gripped the sheets on the bed tightly. Her mouth worked him up and down, tongue sweeping over him. He could feel the need rising in him, consuming him. She brushed her tongue over the tip again and he felt himself get impossibly harder. He was climbing and he knew it wouldn't take much more to pull him over the edge.

"Sansa," he breathed but she didn't respond. "I can't…" He reached down and pulled at her softly. She broke off her oral inspection of him and looked into his eyes, doubt clouding the arousal in her eyes. He pulled her until her mouth was on his and he flipped her over, climbing on top of her and plunging into her. They both groaned at the contact and her hands moved to his back, scratching him lightly.

"If we're celebrating my being alive, I want to do it inside of you," he said breathlessly, pumping in and out of her slowly. She pulled his mouth to hers and bucked her hips into his wildly. He pressed his body against hers and then snaked a hand up to grab her breast, fondling it firmly. She groaned and he sped up. Her legs came up to lock around his waist again. Her hands pulled at his hair softly and she pulled at his hips, her own climax building within her, the need insatiable to fulfill. He pumped faster into her, the need to spill into her almost overwhelming him. She pulled him impossibly closer, her muscles tensing and her movements becoming unpredictable. Her moans were growing louder and a response rumbled in his chest. He pressed his lips to her neck, sucking and biting until she cried out and he felt her tense, her walls squeezing incredibly tight around him and he cried out his own release, spilling into her, pumping tightly and grunting while she called his name repeatedly, the sound of her pleasure enhancing his own. He moved in and out of her until she grew limp under him and he laid down on her gently, breathing labored and sweat glistening on his skin. He waited a moment, listening to the pounding of her heart before rolling off of her.

He looked over at her and felt his breathing hitch. She was breathtakingly beautiful, one arm thrown above her head, hair mussed, chest moving up and down quickly, sweat shining on her skin in the candlelight. Her hair was kissed by fire and it looked like a true flame in that moment. Her eyes moved over to meet his, a small, sated smile on her lips and she rolled over, taking his hand as her eyes closed.

"Do you feel alive now," she murmured sleepily. He laughed softly and moved closer, pulling her into his chest and resting his arm across her waist and the other under her head. She hummed in contentment and moved her legs until her thigh was between his.

"After love making like that, I might die," he teased and she smiled drowsily. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and breathed in, smelling the scent of her hair and letting it run through his brain like a cool breeze in the heat of summer.

"You can't," she slurred. "No one would ever be able to please me like you do." He grinned and pulled her closer.

"No one had better try," he warned darkly and she laughed.

"You'd be dead. I would have killed you with sex." He laughed.

"That is a fine way to go. But if another man touched you, I would come back and beat him senseless."

"Ghosts can't touch anything," she mumbled, almost unintelligible.

"They can if someone's touching their wife," he said simply and she hummed.

"You're… silly." He chuckled and brushed his lips against hers.

"I love you, little wolf," he whispered, heart warming at being able to say the words aloud.

"Love… you… little lion man," she said through a yawn and he rested his cheek against her head, eyes closing and contentment dragging him delicately into darkness.


	14. Little Talks

 

**The song for this chapter is Little Talks by Of Monsters and Men (did not mean to use them twice in a row).**

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Chapter Fourteen: Little Talks

"That one is coming from Pentos. It is carrying the family of one of the former slave soldiers of Dany's; a mother and her two young children. They are coming to find a better life in Westeros with her husband," Sansa said, pointing at one of the ships in the harbor, its white sails billowing in the breeze. Tyrion frowned.

"How do you know it's carrying his family? How do you know it's coming into port?" Sansa rolled her eyes.

"It's a game, my love. You are supposed to make up a story for the ships." He looked at her quizzically and she laughed and sighed in exasperation.

"It seems like a silly game," he said defensively.

"No sillier than your games."

"What?"

"Oh you know exactly what I mean. 'I tell you something and if I'm right, you drink'. I have never heard of a sillier and more obvious way to get your wife drunk."

"You only get drunk because I'm good at it," he stated and she pushed him. He veered dangerously close to the edge of the pier. "That was not funny," he said halfheartedly, straightening his clothes and fixing her with a censorious stare. She laughed and the corners of his mouth twitched. She laughed harder and he joined her. Her stomach began to clench and she stopped laughing, kneeling over the side of the dock and vomiting the contents of her stomach into the ocean.

"Sansa!" Tyrion was at her side in an instant, rubbing her back and holding her hair back from her face. "Bronn!" She heard boot steps approaching her quickly before she once again heaved into the ocean. She felt Bronn's strong arms lift her and carry her away from the ocean, Tyrion running close behind, giving Pod instructions to find the Grand Maester. Bronn carried Sansa through the palace until they reached her chambers and he strode to the bed, laying her on it gently and then stepping back to let Tyrion through.

"Sansa, are you alright?" She smiled weakly at his concern, taking his hand and squeezing it.

"I am sure I just ate something that is disagreeing with me," she said, throat raw. His brow remained furrowed but he was prevented from further interrogation as the new Grand Maester entered. He banished Tyrion from the room –accompanied to much swearing and threats –and then began to look Sansa over, asking her questions. A moment later, a knock on the door announced Dany, who entered, face creased with worry.

Over the past months since she had pardoned Tyrion, she and Sansa had grown closer. Sansa enjoyed having a friend in whom she could confide and at times forgot that Dany was the queen. They walked in the gardens and on the piers, Sansa telling Dany about the different kingdoms and her family while Dany told her about the Dothraki and her husband, Drogo. Sansa found that she could relate better to Dany than to anyone else. As the time passed, they became fast friends and Sansa appreciated the companionship. She loved talking to Tyrion but she needed someone like Margaery who she could confide more personal matters to like techniques to please her husband with. Dany, for her part, almost seemed to forget that Tyrion was a dwarf. She treated him as she treated everyone else and that small mercy made Tyrion appreciate and admire her more.

"What happened," she demanded as she entered and the Grand Maester bowed.

"I cannot tell yet, your grace." Dany frowned at him and began to look Sansa over. She pressed a hand to her stomach and then eyed her chest, resting a hand on Sansa's breast.

"Dany," Sansa hissed embarrassed but Dany had already pulled her hand back and was laughing.

"Grand Maester, you may return to your work, I already know what ails our sweet Sansa," she said and the Grand Maester bowed and turned to leave. "And please don't breathe a word of this to anyone, not even Lord Tyrion," Dany commanded and he nodded and left the room. Dany sat on the edge of Sansa's bed.

"Would you please tell me what in the seven hells is going on," Sansa demanded irritably.

"When was the last time you bled," Dany asked bluntly and Sansa blushed. She opened her mouth to reply then stopped, suddenly unsure of her answer. "Some months I would imagine judging by the changes your body has already experienced."

"I suppose you are right," Sansa said confusedly. Dany smiled.

"You've got a baby inside you," she said gently and Sansa frowned in disbelief.

"No, that can't be. Tyrion and I have been laying together for so many months and nothing happened."

"Trust me, Sansa, you have a baby in you. Sometimes it takes time for anything to happen. I certainly wasn't expecting mine when I found out I was with child. Our monthly bleeding is usually so commonplace that we don't notice when something changes." Sansa smiled to herself, the idea of a baby – _Tyrion's_ baby – in her belly making her giddy with joy. She pressed a hand to her stomach as if she could feel the baby already and then laughed, hugging Dany.

"Thank you, Dany," she said over her shoulder enthusiastically.

"I'm always happy to be of service," she said, pulling back and smiling at her glowing friend. "Anything to get me out of a small council meeting," she groaned, wrinkling her nose. "When I planned to take the Iron Throne, no one mentioned all the tiny, tedious issues that I am expected to sit through and listen to. Ruling is not as glamorous as they made it sound." Sansa laughed and then climbed off the bed.

"Nothing is ever as glamorous as they make it sound. And I know what those meetings can be like. Tyrion always looked like he had been dragged through Fleabottom by horses after those meetings."

"Any time he wants back on the council, you tell him to come to me," she said fervently. Sansa laughed and nodded.

"Agreed."

"So are you going to tell him," Dany asked after a moment. Sansa smiled secretively to herself.

"I think I will. I want to make it special. After so long and all that we've been through, I want it to be extraordinary." Dany smiled at her friend and headed for the door.

"Tell me if you require any assistance. I had better get back to my council," she said tiredly.

"Let me know if you ever want an excuse to miss one," Sansa said and Dany nodded. She opened the door and exited and Tyrion rushed in, face pinched in concern. He took her hands, leading her to a chair and looking over her. She didn't look ill. A little pale, perhaps. In fact, she seemed to practically glow.

"Did the Grand Maester figure out what it was? He wouldn't tell me anything!"

"I am fine. It must have been something from breakfast," she said and he sighed, kissing her softly.

"You had me worried," he said, squeezing her hands.

"I know. I'm sorry. I'll tell the Grand Maester to let you stay next time," she promised. He stared at her in horror.

"Next time? Are you expecting him to make regular visits? Oh gods, you're dying. You're dying and you just don't want to tell me because you know I'll be worried," he said dramatically and she rolled her eyes.

"I am not dying. But I am not fool enough to believe that I will maintain perfect health for forever," she said in exasperation. It was his turn to roll his eyes.

"I am going to make sure that you never get ill," he said, puffing out his chest. She laughed and poked him on his sternum, deflating him.

"Even I get sick, I know you will take care of me," she said, pressing her forehead to his.

"I will. Unless you become a leper," he said seriously and she huffed and pushed him.

"Are you saying you couldn't love me if I were a leper?"

"No, of course I'd love you," he promised and she raised a brow in skepticism. "I would. I would just love you from afar," he added and she laughed. He joined her and then pulled her face to his. "You scared me," he admitted softly.

"I'm sorry, my love. It was not my intention to scare you. I will try and refrain from being too sick. I should expect to be sick more. Bad food takes time to leave the body." He frowned but nodded.

"Then I shall make you as comfortable as possible," he promised and she soon found herself on their bed, his hands kneading her muscles until it was a struggle to keep her eyes open, fatigue claiming her. Tyrion recited poetry and stories as he worked her over, his deep voice rich and soothing.

"What does Casterly Rock look like," she asked quietly a few moments after his story had ended. He reclined next to her, fingers still drawing small patterns over her silky skin.

"It's beautiful. The towers rise up against the horizon. The ocean crashes against the rocks of the cliff it sits on and a few miles down the road, the gold mines are dug into every day. The gardens are beautiful, much like here. You can stand amongst the roses and smell the brine of the ocean mixing with their sweet scent. At sunset, the light sets the ocean aflame and it almost looks as though it is burning."

"Do you miss it," she asked quietly and his fingers paused before moving again.

"Not really. I did once. But they say home is where the heart is and my heart is with you; therefore, my home is with you." She smiled and rolled over, placing a hand to his cheek.

"My heart is with you also," she murmured. He smiled and pressed a kiss to her lips softly.

"One day I will take you to Casterly Rock. I will show you the goldmines and the cliffs. Then I will show you the bedchamber. Then I will show you just how much I enjoy having you in the bedchamber." She laughed and rolled her eyes.

"Sometimes I think you just want me for my body," she said softly.

"Not just," he defended before grinning wickedly. "I just happen to really like that part of you." She laughed and pulled him in for a kiss.

"You are silly, my little lion man," she whispered and he smiled. "And gods help me, it only makes me love you more," she said and he laughed quietly.

"I love you too, little wolf." She grinned at the nickname and kissed him again.

"Thank the gods I have you to take care of me," she said.

"The gods themselves wouldn't be able to stop me from caring for you," he promised seriously and pressed his lips to her forehead.

"Tell me about Lannisport," she commanded after a moment and he grinned, placing a kiss to her lips before obliging her order. Sansa curled into him, listening to his voice as it enveloped her in a warm feeling of safety.

She had the love of a good husband and their baby growing safely in her belly. She couldn't imagine life getting any better than this.


	15. Best Of Me

 

**The song for this chapter is Best of Me by Michael Buble.**

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**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not the Iron Throne, not the North and definitely not Tyrion Lannister. But oh the things I could do if I did.**

Chapter Fifteen: Best of Me

Tyrion was vexed.

He paced back and forth in his chambers, brow furrowed and hands clenched as he listened to Sansa emptying the contents of her stomach into a chamber pot on the balcony.

Again.

She should have been better! It had been weeks since she got sick on the docks. But she just brushed off his concern, promising to visit the maester. She had once or twice and he had given her a poultice and the essence of a plant called ginger which he said would ease the nausea. Sansa didn't seem concerned with her illness and that bothered Tyrion more. She continued to do the same things, with a couple days a week spent in bed mostly, but her illness did not dissipate. Tyrion listened to her get sick almost every time she ate and his fear and anxiety just seemed to increase. He turned and saw Sansa wipe her mouth and come back into the room. She laid across the bed in exhaustion and he moved to her side, climbing up gently beside her. Her hair was fanned across the blanket, arms thrown above her head. Her cheeks were pale but a slow blush was creeping back into her skin.

"Sansa, this is ridiculous," he started and she sighed.

"You're right," she admitted and he had to stop the angry retort on his lips as her words sunk in.

"What," he asked, not bothering to hide the shock coloring his voice. She smiled at him softly.

"You're right. I've been ridiculous. I should just tell you what's wrong." He felt his breathing hitch and he stared at her as she sat up tenderly, suddenly overcome with the fear that whatever ailed her was going to take her away from him. She took a deep breath, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. "I have something in my body," she began and his heart stopped. "The maester says it will continue to make me sick for a while. He says that it will grow in size. When it's big enough, he's going to have to pull it out of me." Tyrion stared at her in horror. She stared at him and then began to laugh. He glared at her, not amused.

"It's not funny, Sansa! I need to know what's wrong with you," he demanded hotly and she continued laughing before getting control of her breathing and kissing his cheek. He softened slightly.

"I was being serious, my love." He gazed at her in confusion and fear. "What I failed to mention before was that after he pulls it out of me, we will know if it's a boy or a girl and we can find a proper name for it." Tyrion stared at her in silence and she could almost see him processing her words in his brain. She knew the moment that her words registered. His face lit up, eyes flying to meet hers wildly, bright with love and emotion. His hands grabbed hers and he squeezed them in excitement.

"You're with child," he asked, barely managing not to shout the words and Sansa nodded. He laughed, a few tears streaming from the corners of his eyes. He pressed his lips to hers sweetly and then pressed a strong hand to her abdomen.

"Hello, baby," he said softly, caressing the area gently and Sansa's heart melted at the gentility he expressed. His eyes were soft with affection and he spoke quietly to her belly. "You're going to be the most beautiful, loved little lion. You will be as regal as a king and as handsome as any prince. You will want for nothing, not love or money or comfort." She swallowed thickly as Tyrion leaned down and placed his lips softly to her belly, rubbing it and then resting his ear against it as though he could hear the baby speaking to him.

"Well, you can't have her all the time. Your father and mother are going to need some time to ourselves to make lots of little brothers and sisters for you," he said bluntly and Sansa frowned.

"What are you doing," she asked flatly.

"Shh," Tyrion said, not lifting his ear from her abdomen. "We're talking."

"The baby can't talk to you, Tyrion."

"Well, it is so obviously it can. No, I don't think she believes me," he said, obviously answering an imaginary question from their child. "But your mother is a woman who has to have the truth laid out for her," he sighed dramatically. Sansa smacked him on the back of his head. He flinched and rubbed the offended area. "She's also abusive," he stage whispered and Sansa huffed and pushed him away from her. He fell back on the bed and laughed, reaching for her hand and pulling it to his heart. She smiled reluctantly and then let him pull her to his chest where she curled up against him and he held her close, pressing a hand to her abdomen again, as though he couldn't stand not to be in contact with their growing child.

He stared at her, his eyes soft with emotion and a small, wondering smile on his face.

"We're going to have a baby," he whispered happily and Sansa grinned at the wonder in his voice and face.

"We're going to have a baby," she affirmed and he smiled and then pressed his lips softly to hers.

"So when you got sick on the docks and said it was something you ate, you knew," he asked and she nodded, heart clenched, worried about his reaction to the news that she had known for weeks. "Why didn't you tell me sooner," he asked softly and she could hear the doubt, the pain and worry that she still didn't trust him.

"I was going to try and tell you in a way that would be dramatic and unforgettable… but I was mostly worried that maybe something would happen. I didn't want to make you so happy and then have something horrible happen. You've had enough heartbreak to last you a lifetime. And then I realized that telling you like this, just us, private and alone, would be much more special." He shook his head, rolling his eyes, a soft smile pulling the corners of his mouth up.

"You are too sweet to me, little wolf. You worry so much about my feelings, about protecting me. I'm still not used to it," he admitted softly and she raised a hand to his face, rubbing his cheek gently. He turned and kissed her palm, sighing in contentment.

"I will always protect you," she whispered. "Both of you," she said, determination in her voice as she moved her hand back to cover his on her stomach. He smiled, tears pooling in his eyes as he pulled her closer, holding her while he let his emotions release themselves. She held him back, pulling him as close as possible and he could feel it then: a small bump against stomach. He leaned back quickly and met Sansa's startled gaze.

"Was that…" she trailed off and pressed a hand to her stomach, a laugh bubbling in her throat. He pressed his hand to her stomach again and a few moments later was rewarded with a soft but very present nudge against it. His eyes met her and she smiled, kissing him excitedly. He bent down, pressing his lips to her abdomen and smiling when he felt another small, fluttering kick to his hands.

"Are you happy," he cooed softly. "You know that we love you. Already we love you so much and we haven't even met you. I am sure that by the time you are born, we will love you even more and that love will only grow throughout your life. Nothing will ever be as important to us as you," he promised and then he looked up at Sansa. Tears were streaming from her eyes and she smiled warmly at him. She interlocked her fingers with his and placed their joined hands over the place where the baby was still making its presence known.

"I love you," she whispered and he sat up, overwhelmed with the need to show her how in love with her he was, how happy he was that she was giving him this, giving him a child. He took her face in his hands and guided his lips slowly to hers, pausing for a moment when his lips were almost against hers to look into her face and memorize the way that it looked; her eyes were closed and he could feel her breath fanning across his lips as her breathing sped up. He placed his lips to hers, brushing against them tenderly, not willing to break the magic of the happiness they had surrounded themselves in when she told him he was going to be a father.

His thoughts turned inwards to his own father. He hadn't loved him, hadn't accepted him as a son save for the bare minimum required to avoid shaming his name and that of his family. Tyrion had grown up, raised by septas and yearning for the love of a parent, a sibling. He and Jamie loved each other, now, after they had both come to experience the harsh realities of the world and that their father was misguided. Tyrion had always thought he'd never have children, that his father wouldn't ever arrange to have him married and that no woman in her right mind would accept him in marriage, let alone in their bed. When he had wed Sansa, he was sure that she would never invite him to share her bed. Now, faced with the imminent truth that he was going to be a father, he had to admit to being a little frightened. He didn't know how to be a good father; he'd never had an example to draw from.

He pulled away from Sansa and stared into her eyes, hands moving through her hair.

"What if I'm not enough for him," he whispered softly and Sansa smiled, placing a hand to his cheek.

"You are a better father than any child could ask for," she assured him. "He will love you and you will love him and I will love the both of you. My little lions," she said and he felt as though she had his whole heart in her delicate hands and that she was coaxing it from the hardened walls that had protected it for so long.

"He will certainly love you more, little wolf." She smiled at him and then laughed unexpectedly. "What?"

"I was just wondering. If I am a wolf and you are a lion, what does that make our children? Will I be a mother lion or a mother wolf?" He chuckled at her random thought.

"You will be my little wolf," he said, pulling her forehead to meet his. "I don't care if they are lions or wolves. Perhaps they will be both."

"What happens when you mix a wolf and a lion," she asked in confusion.

"A formidably stout king amongst men," he said without missing a beat and she laughed.

"I don't think Dany would like having our son or daughter try to take her kingdom from her." He chortled.

"Then he will be the king of our hearts. He can rule mine, right next to his mother." She smirked and laid down on the bed, pulling him to hover over her.

"Then allow me to pay homage to your heart," she whispered before pressing her lips to his ardently. He groaned and pressed himself against her, smiling when he felt a little nudge against his own stomach.


	16. Paradise

 

**The song for this chapter is Paradise originally by Coldplay but the version I am using is by Guitar Tribute Players. Mellow. That's what I'm going for.**

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**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not the Iron Throne, not the North and definitely not Tyrion Lannister. But oh the things I could do if I did.**

Chapter Sixteen: Paradise

Tyrion rolled over, squinting against the bright sunlight streaming into his face. He blinked a few times and then smiled tenderly as he watched Sansa sleeping deeply beside him. The sunlight was dancing off of her hair, making it glow. Her face was peaceful, slack and she even had the tiniest amount of drool that had seeped into the pillow. She would have been mortified but he found it adorably endearing. One arm was tucked under her pillow and head while the other rested protectively over her larger belly. The maester had told her that judging by when she last bled, she was now halfway through her pregnancy. Tyrion's joy was beyond measure. When Sansa had stood in front of the mirror naked, rubbing her hands up and down her belly, he'd thought she was teasing him for sure until she turned to him, grinning. Her smile had seemed to light up the entire room as she showed him the new swell in her belly where their baby was growing.

He enjoyed rubbing his hands over the spot and kissing it, having imaginary conversations with his child just to make Sansa laugh. She was happier now that her sickness had stopped. Whenever the baby would move, she would grab his hand –no matter what he was doing –and press it to the spot being assaulted from inside. Her joy became his joy and his joy only increased hers. They lived in a blissful bubble of new life and hope, feelings so foreign to them after all that had happened the past year. Tyrion showered her in gifts to show his love and she blushed and told him it wasn't necessary. She showed in her affection in ways that didn't involve spending money but left him feeling lighter and spent.

He focused back on his sleeping wife and laid a hand gently to her belly, smiling when he felt a kick against his hand. He leaned in and softly pressed his lips to hers. He deepened the kiss, smiling when he felt her begin to stir and respond. Her arms came up and wrapped around his neck and he moved closer, hovering over her.

"It's not very polite to wake up your sleeping wife, you know," she said after minute and he laughed.

"When a man has a wife as beautiful as mine, it is impossible not to wake her," he responded audaciously. She laughed, voice still thick with sleep and he smiled, dipping his lips down to her collarbone.

"I'm supposed to have tea with Dany today," she said after a few minutes, trying to dislodge him and finding her task impossible.

"No you aren't. I talked to her yesterday. Today you are mine."

"Oh really," she asked, cocking a brow at him in challenge. "And what, pray tell, are you going to do with me?" He grinned wickedly.

"Well, I was going to take you for a picnic on the docks but after seeing you like this and holding you, I think I should change my plans."

"Oh do you?"

"Yes, I do. I think we should just stay in bed and I will worship you from head to toe," he said, sitting up on her and smiling at the glazed look in her eyes.

"I think I'm hungry," she said and he smiled and leaned down, pressing his lips to hers hungrily and pulling her to him.

~~~~~~~~~AMS~~~~~~~~~~

Sansa had had a wonderful day. After she and Tyrion had exhausted themselves physically, they napped for hours before waking up and he made good on his promise to take her out on the docks to watch the ships and eat. Podrick had done a fine job setting up a small table with two chairs, facing the ocean and placing all her favorites upon it. She had eaten until she felt like she couldn't possibly look at another piece of food without being sick. Tyrion had entertained her during lunch with tales of he and Jaime's adventures as children, making life for the septas difficult and incurring the wrath of his father. It was easier for him to speak of his father than it had been those first months after his death. Jaime was still in the Sapphire Isles with Brienne. Tyrion had begged pardon for his brother with Daenerys and she had granted it after confirmation from Jaime that he planned to stay in the Isles and help manage his new father-in-law's estate. Tyrion wrote him often but she knew that he missed his brother.

Sansa longed for her family as well. As her pregnancy progressed, she wished more than anything that her mother was there to tell her what was normal and what was not. She would have loved to see her father's face when she told him he was going to be a grandfather. And her siblings would have doted on her new baby. She often wondered about Arya, Bran, Rickon and Jon. She hadn't heard anything of them and she asked Varys about it every week. So far, all three remained lost to her and Jon remained at Castle Black, doing his duty to the realm and keeping his vows. She had sent a raven to him after she told Tyrion about their child, but she hadn't received anything back. She wondered if he was upset with her for marrying and loving a Lannister. Of all her siblings, she had thought Jon would have the least amount of resentment for her. He had seemed to develop a rapport with her husband when they first met. But now she wasn't so sure.

"Shall we go to bed, my love," Tyrion asked her, shaking her from her thoughts. She looked up from the book she was pretending to read into his eyes and smiled at the earnest affection she found there. Not for the first time, her heart seemed to swell with emotion that threatened to flood her soul for him.

"Of course," she said softly, standing up and beginning her usual nighttime routine. Tyrion followed suit on the opposite side of the bed and she found herself glancing over at him frequently, admiring the way his hair fell across his forehead and the muscles flexing on his arm. He caught her eye several times and she suspected that she wasn't the only one who couldn't keep their eyes off the other. When she was finally finished, she crawled into the bed and waited for her husband to climb in before laying her head in his lap. He laughed and began to comb his fingers through her hair.

"Tell me a story," she asked and he chuckled.

"Preparing me for when our little lion gets here?" She nodded determinedly and he smiled, squeezing her belly gently before moving his fingers over the tight skin there lovingly.

"Once, there was a beautiful maid," he began and she sighed contentedly, relaxing to the sound of his voice. "She was the most beautiful maid in the kingdom. She had the palest, softest skin and her hair was kissed by fire, a dancing flame in the wind. Many brave nights came to her father asking for her hand but she refused them all, saying that none had a heart truly worthy of hers and her father let her. One day, a poor, tired, shaggy bear came into the village. The villagers screamed, running for the stronghold she lived in, begging the lord to kill the beast. The maid snuck from the stone walls of the castle and ran to the village. She found the bear eating lemon cakes from the baker's cart. 'How now, bear,' she called and the bear raised his head. He was an ugly thing, with dirty fur and wild eyes but she felt no fear. 'Hungry,' the bear called back in his deep, growling voice. 'You have eaten all the lemon cakes,' she said sadly before she rummaged in the mess of the baker's cart and found a loaf of brown bread. 'I will share this loaf of bread with you,' she offered and the bear regarded her suspiciously before sitting down on his haunches and tearing the loaf in half with his mighty paws. He handed one half to her and was about to eat but she stopped him and placed honey on the bread for him until it was out, leaving none for herself. 'You have no honey for yourself,' the bear said and the maid shrugged. Slowly, he handed her his half of the bread and took the unsweetened half for himself. 'You have a truly noble heart,' she said. The maid stood and placed a kiss to his snout and he was magically transformed into a shaggy man. She took him back to the castle and they were married within a fortnight."

"You told it wrong," Sansa said, frowning. "The bear licked the honey from her hair and never turned into a man."

"When you tell it, you may change it. Since I told it, I will tell it how I want," Tyrion said insolently. Sansa laughed and sat up long enough for him to slide down until he was no longer sitting up before resting her cheek against his chest. Her hand found his and linked their fingers before resting them on her swollen belly.

"I love you, you silly, little lion man," she said through a yawn and Tyrion smiled.

"I love you, you demanding little wolf."

"Don't make me demand that you sleep on the chaise," she warned warmly and he laughed.

"Demanding and formidable; how will I ever win an argument," he sighed. She laughed.

"You will have to use your charming good looks and powers of persuasion." It was his turn to laugh.

"If losing an argument keeps that beautiful smile on your face, I will cease to be a clever man." She hummed and snuggled closer to him. He rubbed her abdomen as he felt the baby moving inside. "I can scarcely wait for the day when we meet our little lion."

"I am both terrified and excited at the same time," Sansa admitted and Tyrion held her tighter. "What if I am not a good mother?"

"That is silly. You are already the best mother I have ever seen and our baby is still inside you." She smiled to herself.

"Really?" He pressed his lips to her forehead firmly.

"If I had known my mother, I imagine that she would have been like you. Loyal, loving, protective, warm. I wish that I had known her. But I am happy to know that our child will have you."

"I love you," she whispered after a moment.

"As I love you, little wolf," he replied before resting his cheek sleepily against her head.


	17. Forgetting

**You will hate me for this chapter.**

**The song for this chapter is Forgetting by David Gray. A truly heartbreaking emotion to the song.**

**TISSUE ALERT! Grab a few boxes. You will need them.**

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**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not the Iron Throne, not the North and definitely not Tyrion Lannister. But oh the things I could do if I did.**

Chapter Seventeen: Forgetting

Sansa's eyes flew open. The room was still dark save for a faint silvery glow streaming in the windows through the window. She blinked around in confusion for a moment. She had rolled away from Tyrion sometime during the night. She sat up in bed and winced as pain shot through her abdomen. As she peered down at the sheets, her heart stopped. A dark, red stain was seeping from beneath her. Her breathing became labored as another wave of searing pain sliced through her.

"Tyrion," she whispered, shaking his shoulder. He mumbled and grabbed her hand with his before his snores picked up again. More pain caused her to cry out. Tyrion jolted awake, blinking repeatedly. "Tyrion!" He rolled over, taking in his wife's hunched posture, frightened eyes and tearstained face. He immediately became alert.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"I don't know. I'm… I'm bleeding," she gasped, doubling over. He looked down at the sheets and saw the dark stain and immediately turned, jumping out of bed. He ran to the door, throwing it open and waking Pod, who was sleeping by the door. He jumped up, running for the Maester as Tyrion yelled after him to hurry. He ran back in the room to Sansa and climbed up on the bed, rubbing her back soothingly, trying to calm her. She cried into his shoulder, the recurring pain and confusion frightening away her ability to be calm. He murmured soothing words to her, reciting poetry to her when he ran out of platitudes.

After what felt like centuries, the Grand Maester ran into the room with Pod following after. He approached the bed where Tyrion and Sansa were waiting.

"Lord Tyrion, you need to leave," he rasped.

"If you think that I am going to leave my wife at a time like this, then you can go f-"

"It is improper for you to be here while I treat her," he said forcefully. At that moment, Daenerys entered the room, Missandei following behind her. She moved to Sansa's side and took her hand.

"Tyrion, leave. I will stay with Sansa," she ordered softly, holding his eyes before he sighed. He kissed Sansa's forehead, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze and slid off the bed, following Pod outside. After the door had closed, the queen turned to the maester. "I suggest you begin your work now, Grand Maester." He began taking Sansa's pulse and feeling her abdomen. He stepped back and wiped his brow, face grim.

Tyrion prowled outside the door, hands clenched and thoughts jumbled. What had happened? Everything had been so beautiful when they went to bed last night, so normal. Their lives were finally moving forward, becoming better, happier. And now this? When would the misery and loss end? When would the nightmares cease to invade their waking moments? Tyrion would mourn the loss of his child but if anything happened to Sansa… Gods, he wouldn't survive it. Once he had stopped himself from ever holding anything dear, ever cherishing anything that could be taken from him. It was what you did when you played the Game of Thrones. You guarded yourself, eliminated personal relationships of meaning unless you had the power to protect them if only so you wouldn't have to lose them, so they couldn't be used against you. Tyrion had become soft after Daenerys had taken the throne. He had become used to not playing the Game, to the Game being over. His heart had become unguarded and now, this tragedy struck.

The door opened and Tyrion threw himself at the people coming out. The maester and Missandei stepped out. Both wore grim expressions and Tyrion felt his heart sink, poised on the brink of breaking.

"My lord," the maester began quietly. "I'm afraid it's grave news."

"Just tell me," Tyrion said shortly. Missandei stepped in, crouching down and taking Tyrion's hand.

"It's the baby, my lord. Your wife has lost the child," she said softly. Tyrion's mouth opened as his heart broke and grief sank into his stomach like a lead weight. He opened his mouth to say something but the anguish that was burning through him like acid seized his throat and wouldn't allow a single word to form. He worked his jaw for a few minutes before swallowing thickly.

"And Sansa?"

"She's weak and tired, still a little sore but she will be fine, physically at least. I am worried about her emotional health. Losing a child, as far into her pregnancy as she was, is a difficult thing to overcome," the maester admitted softly. Tyrion let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He released the woman's hand and strode into his chambers, straight to the bed, where the queen was murmuring soft words to Sansa as she stared out the windows. Daenerys glanced at him and then muttered to her friend and left, resting a hand on his shoulder briefly. Tyrion approached the bed, climbing onto it and settling next to his wife. She refused to make eye contact, turning her head away from him as he gently stroked her hand. Her eyes were red and puffy and in that moment, she looked like the empty child he had watched endure the torture of his nephew after watching her father lose his head.

"Sansa," he said softly. "My love, look at me." She turned her tearstained face to him.

"I'm so sorry," she said, throat tightening and tears beginning to spill from her eyes. "I'm so, so sorry, Tyrion." He felt the sharp sting of tears in his own eyes and he gathered her in his arms and held her, rubbing her back.

"You have nothing to apologize for," he said violently. "Nothing. You had no control over this." She began to sob harder, her cries growing in volume as the sobs racked through her already sore abdomen. She continued to cry for what seemed like hours until her tears ran out. When her sobs quieted, Tyrion laid down, pulling her gently to his chest and running his fingers through her hair. "I know how horrible this is, how horrible this feels but I need you to know that if anything had happened to you…" She pressed a finger to his lips and he kissed them softly.

"What if…" she said after a few moments of silence, "what if I cannot give you children," she finally asked. His hand paused in her hair and he finally released the breath he had been holding.

"Did you know you are the first woman who has ever wanted me? Not for my power, not for my money, but because you love me? No other woman has ever felt this way about me, ever done anything for me without some ulterior motive. I never saw myself married. My father hated me, thought I brought my family shame. So it makes sense that I never hoped for children, for heirs. When we married and my father demanded that we consummate our marriage, I still never expected children. I thought that maybe there was something wrong with me, some side effect of being a dwarf. So when you told me that you had a child, _my_ child growing inside of you, I was completely unprepared for such a miracle. I thanked the gods for such a blessing, such a reward." He paused, heart constricting and throat tightening with emotion. "But not half as much as I thanked them the day you told me you loved me." She looked up at him, eyes bright. "Perhaps we will never have children," he whispered placing a kiss to her forehead, "but that is not nearly as tragic as living my life without you." He leaned down and placed a kiss to her lips. She sighed into the kiss and then pulled away before burying her face in his neck.

Tyrion remembered the happiness that he and Sansa had shared the night before. She had confided in him her fears about being a good mother and that had caused him to think of his own mother. Now he wondered if she would have felt like this had she lived through the birth. He had been raised to believe that he was a mistake, a great joke to the world. Would his mother have felt the same way? Or were these negative emotions born from the grief of loss his family had experienced as the cost for his life. His thoughts turned to Catelyn. He wished more than anything that Sansa could have her now, a woman to help her through the heartache of losing a child, the hardships of motherhood. Because even though their child had not lived to know life, Sansa was a mother. He kissed her hair before resuming the stroking of her hair with his hand, thoughts lost to the child he would never meet.


	18. I Dreamed A Dream

**I know you all hate me! I'm sorry!**

**The song for this chapter is I Dreamed A Dream from Les Miserables, though I used the cover by Glee Cast.**

**TISSUE ALERT!**

**ANGST WARNING: For anyone who is uncomfortable reading about the aftermath of miscarriage, please PM or contact me for important highlights from this chapter.**

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Chapter Eighteen: I Dreamed A Dream

Sansa stared at the roaring waves of the ocean silently, eyes lost to visions beyond the churning waters. She was sickly pale and her handmaiden was fussing over her for the third week in a row about her health but her pleadings and warnings of illness fell on deaf ears. Sansa wasn't there. She was a bird, lost on the wind, drifting aimlessly over the angry waters and the sprawling city. She cared for nothing but the feel of the wind beneath her wings, the feel of soaring above the towering fortresses of the Red Keep and the heavy masts of the ships. She was lost in her imaginings, anything to get away from the harsh and heartrending reality she was living in, the living hell that had become her life. She used to think that life under Joffrey's and Cersei's thumbs had been the closest to hell she would ever see but since that night the maester had told her she had lost her child, she couldn't believe she had ever considered that true suffering.

It had been the worst night of her life. Tyrion held her, attempted to comfort her and hide his own heartbreak but the maester had returned with several instruments and medicines. He had to take the baby out of her. Daenerys had come in, offering support on one side while Tyrion tried to keep himself together on the other. It had been the most painful experience of her life to date, physically and emotionally. After he had pulled her lost baby from her, she insisted that she get to hold it. It was a boy. As young as he was, she could already see the strawberry blonde hair in tufts on his smooth head, his eyes forever closed to the world. He had been so tiny, scarcely the size of the doll her father had given her before he was killed. His skin was thin, almost transparent, the blood vessels visible.

And he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

She and Tyrion had held the baby, both unable to control the torrent of tears and sobs that seemed to break them. When the maester insisted that he take the child, Sansa had clung to him, unwilling to let him go, knowing that she would never see him again, never have the chance to hold her son to her breast. Tyrion finally held her arms while the maester took the child gently and left the room. Dany had offered to stay and provide comfort but Sansa had banished her from the room, hitting the walls and the bed in a fit of anguish induced wrath. Tyrion had tried to calm her but it wasn't until she was left exhausted that he crawled into bed next to her and held her, offering what comfort he could give. She knew that he was in pain too, that this loss was just as heartbreaking for him but she couldn't find a way out of her grief to offer him any support. She was exhausted and sore and she felt like the sun would never shine again.

The following weeks had not improved her mood at all. Tyrion worried over her, mustering what strength he had left to try and be a support for her. He set aside his grief to ease hers but she was inconsolable. She refused most food, drinking only wine and she barely slept. Her eyes were dark and hollow and her cheeks were sunken. Her dresses hung off of her like a skeleton's. Many had tried to persuade her to eat, to improve her spirits but she listened to none of them. A week after the loss of her son, she took to sitting on a cliff by the Red Keep and staring into the ocean, imagining herself free of the pain she now carried. Several times she imagined throwing herself from the rocks into the agitated ocean water, to let the waves turn and shake her until she gave way to icy waters, watched her life and the sorrow that filled it seep into the ocean.

Sansa stood at the edge of the cliff as her handmaiden moved up to fetch one of the queen's Unsullied to get Sansa and physically remove her from her perch. She stared at the swirling waters and suddenly, she was falling. The air rushed past her face and arms and for a moment, she felt free like the bird she imagined herself to be. She closed her eyes and waited for the impact. The water was as icy as she imagined, sinking into her very bones and chilling her completely. The water was dark and murky. It moved her and she didn't attempt to fight the current that dragged her down. She felt her body being slammed against rocks and she winced. Her lungs burned with the need for air and she instinctively began to claw her way to the surface.

But she couldn't find it. She had no idea which way was up or down, where she needed to tread to as the currents pulled her this way and that. Her lungs began to ache and she inhaled, the icy salt water filling her chest and making her cough and gasp more air in. Her head began to ache from the cold and lack of oxygen and Sansa felt her thoughts begin to go fuzzy. Her movements became sluggish and she felt her vision begin to go black, bright spots bursting at the edges. Slowly, she could feel the life being coaxed from her by the relentless water. She relaxed into it, unable to find the energy to fight against it. As she fell into the black abyss, she saw Tyrion's face in her mind, twisted with grief and she before she lost consciousness completely, she felt guilty for subjecting him to such a heavy loss.


	19. Keep It Together

***ducks in hesitantly waiting for flying vegetables* Hi guys. Sorry about that last cliffy. Would you believe me if I told you I didn't ever even consider having Sansa do that? Yeah, that's right; my fictional character just wrote in her own story line.** **I know that these chapters are rough (believe me I have to live through it) but I promise after this little pocket of angst, things will get better. The chapter after this will put us at 2/3 of the way through! .**

**The song for this chapter is Keep It Together by Tyler Ward and the CO.**

**TISSUE ALERT! Tyrion has feelings too…**

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**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not the Iron Throne, not the North and definitely not Tyrion Lannister. But oh the things I could do if I did.**

Chapter Nineteen: Keep It Together

Tyrion slumped onto the chaise in his rooms, fatigue aching in his bones. He felt like he could close his eyes and never open them again for another century. His heart felt weighted in his chest, torn to pieces by the loss of his son and the emotional loss of his wife. It seemed as though his every waking moment was tormented by the sight of his tiny, lifeless son in his arms before the maester took him from the room, never to be seen again. Sansa had closed herself off completely and Tyrion tried his best to be strong for her but his efforts were for naught. For almost a month, she had let the grief take over her life, draining the energy from her like a parasite. She refused to speak to anyone, to eat anything. She drank more wine in one day than he did in a week it seemed.

Tyrion was tired. He couldn't keep up the charade of strength for his wife anymore. Every day he was haunted by the life that might have been had his son lived. Scenes played before his eyes as though they were almost memories. He and Sansa encouraging their small boy to take his first steps, the wobbly way in which he stood, hovering over him to ensure he didn't hurt himself. He saw himself taking his son up to Winterfell and showing him the Godswood and the Wolfswood and telling him dark stories of the North while Sansa clucked disapprovingly from the other side of the bed. Teaching his son to ride a horse, encouraging him when he learned swordplay and archery.

The memories threatened to suffocate him, to smother him in the hopeless anguish of the life that was lost. It had been the hardest moment of his life to allow the maester to take his son from he and Sansa, knowing that it would be the last time they met. And now to have all his fear and anxiety for Sansa thrust upon his shoulders, he felt as though the weight of the world was crushing him. He could barely stand anymore, wishing he could just let it crush him, to give way to the pressure. Sansa needed him, he knew, but she was unwilling to accept any help from anyone, let alone him. She barely slept and Tyrion found his only relief in sleep, where he could live out the fantasies of his wife and son living happily with him in the North until he woke up and reality crashed back down on him.

Daenerys had attempted to offer some sort of comfort to Sansa. Apparently, she had also lost her child early. But Sansa wasn't willing to listen to the empathy of her queen and while Tyrion found a small comfort in knowing that someone understood what they were going through, it did little to ease the pain and frustration that seemed to eat away at him from the inside like acid. Bronn and Pod had taken to getting him drunk at night in an attempt to steer his mind from the painful thoughts but all that did was make Tyrion curse the inaccuracies of wine and its ability to dispel the heartache he was suffering from. Varys offered him reprieve in the form of distraction by giving him a small amount of responsibility in gathering information from the Night's Watch and the Northmen. He also had all of the repairs to Winterfell that he had been overseeing to divert him from the hell his life had suddenly become.

He almost laughed to himself after weeks of Sansa's aloof behavior. He had been so concerned for her health, her safety that night. He could live without his son, yes, but the idea of losing Sansa had made him nearly rabid with fear. But it turned out that he had lost her anyway. She was little more than a walking, breathing corpse now, refusing to engage or participate in any activity involving another person. Sometimes he wondered if she even heard him when he spoke to her. He had begged the maester for a medicinal to help calm her but she refused to take anything. He liked to imagine that they might have handled the loss easier if the maester hadn't come in to pull the baby from Sansa. It was the struggle of those moments mixed with the grief that came from meeting their lifeless child that seemed to be the breaking point for Sansa as well as himself. He didn't know what to do! He didn't know how to help his wife or himself. He had spent so long attempting to remain strong and stalwart in the face of this bereavement that he felt he couldn't be strong a moment longer.

Tyrion felt the hot tears leaking from his eyes before he heard the sobs. He realized that the noises were coming from him as his entire body shook with the force of the sobs. He cradled his head in his hands, pulling at his hair, attempting to hold himself together and pull the painful images from his mind all at once. His throat felt tight as he struggled to breath, howling in agony as the memories assaulted him. His muscles were tense and hard as he rocked himself back and forth on the chaise, trying to find a small piece of comfort in the motion but left unsatisfied. He felt completely empty and yet filled to the spilling point with sorrow that he was sure it would tear him apart. He didn't attempt to muffle his cries or to stop them. He needed this. He needed to void some of the pain by letting it leak from his eyes in the form of tears and fall to the ground to be absorbed into the rushes.

Hours passed and at some point he must have fallen asleep. He sprang from the chaise, startled and then went to answer the door, briefly wondering where his wife had got to. He pulled the door open and found Missandei on the other side, face grim and voice harried.

"My lord Tyrion," she said, coming into the room and immediately rearranging the bed. Tyrion stepped back, confused.

"What is it," he asked, stomach sinking.

"Lady Sansa," she said hurriedly, moving from the bed to the doorway, peering out.

"What about her," he asked cautiously.

"She fell from the cliffs by the Red Keep into the Blackwater," Missandei said softly and Tyrion's already broken heart seemed to freeze.

"Is she alright? Missandei, where is Sansa," he shouted, pulling on her but he stopped as he watched Grey Worm come down the corridor. In his arms lay Sansa, pale and still, lips tinged blue from the cold and soaked to the bone.

"Sansa," he breathed before collapsing to the floor, unable to take the added pressure that seemed to be placed on his heart at the sight of his wife being carried into the room, looking drowned. He placed his head in his hands and felt tears begin anew.


	20. Just Give Me A Reason

**I know that I am nearly killing you with all this angst but I promise we are almost near the clear! Bear with me! Bear with them! Sometimes people in love can be real idiots.**

**The song for this chapter is Just Give Me a Reason originally by P!nk but I am using several different covers. Specifically: Alyssa Bernal with Josh Milan, and Daniela Andrade with New Heights.**

**TISSUE ALERT! They're going be stupid...**

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Chapter Twenty: Just Give Me a Reason

Sansa groaned in pain. Her throat was rough and scratchy. She could feel every centimeter of her body and she wondered if she had been pounded to pieces by a butcher. She struggled to open her eyes. They felt weighted closed by steel but she finally managed to open them. The canopy of her bed was blurry and fuzzy above her and she blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the fog from her eyes. She groaned again and tried to turn her head, wincing as throbbing pain shot through her head.

"Tyrion," she rasped out and she heard the sound of a chair scraping against the rushes and hurried bootsteps before his face came into view above hers. He looked like he'd been through hell. His eyes had dark circles around them and lacked the usual vibrancy when he looked at her. His hair was a tangled mess on his head and his clothes were rumpled.

"Thank the gods that you're alright," he breathed, wrapping her in his arms. She held him back, muscles screaming in protest. She held onto him as though he was her lifeline.

"I'm sorry," she rasped and he froze beneath her. He pulled away from her and sat out of arm's reach, face stony.

"What were you thinking," he bit out and she frowned, struggling to remember what had happened.

"I don't… I can't…"

" _You jumped off a cliff_ ," he said angrily and she flinched away from the fire in his eyes and voice. "You jumped into the ocean. The only reason you aren't at the bottom of Blackwater Bay right now is because one of the queen's Unsullied saw you and jumped in after. He dragged you both to shore where a sailor pumped the water from your lungs before Grey Worm carried you here. You've been unconscious for _days_." She remembered then. It all came back to her; the water, the air rushing past her face, Tyrion's distraught face.

"I… I didn't want to try anymore," she whispered softly, pleading for him to understand. But his face was hard, unforgiving.

"You didn't try to begin with," he shouted and she stared at him, shocked into silence. "For the last month, you've been moping around here not even trying to function! Acting like you were the only one who lost something that night! That was my son too! I lost him too! But I tried to set aside my own grief, my own pain to help ease yours and you pushed me away! You shut me out, when we should have been helping each other, mourning together! Just when I feel like I literally cannot take anymore, they carry your half drowned body in here and tell me that you threw yourself from a cliff by the Red Keep! Was I supposed to be distraught? Was I supposed to continue to just worry about you and forget that every day it feels like my heart has been ripped out and smashed by a dragon's claw? How can I continue to function when I feel like I didn't just lose my son but my wife as well? You didn't want to try anymore? I'm the only one in this relationship who has attempted any form of normalcy after that night!"

Sansa was frozen to the bed, tears running down her cheeks, unable to bring herself to move her limbs.

"I'm sorry," she whispered through a sob but Tyrion shook his head.

"Sorry isn't good enough this time, Sansa. I need to _know_. I need to feel like every time something horrible happens, you aren't going to push me away and ignore me. You did this after you found out about your brother and mother, after Margaery died and now this! We're married! We're in love! You are supposed to share your burdens with me so that I can support you! So that I can make you feel better, help you! But you haven't! You've pushed me away every time something tragic happens! But this is the last straw. I'm not going to wait around for the next tragedy to strike so that I can be shoved off into a corner to be forgotten about and ignored!" He moved away from the bed.

"Where are you going?" He stopped, turning to face her, face crumpled in pain.

"I love you! Gods, I love you so much that it _hurts_ sometimes, but I can't keep living like this! This isn't what you do to someone you love."

She watched in horror as he grabbed a book of the table and stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him and causing a painting on the wall to fall from its hook and drop to the ground, frame splitting in two. She stayed there, unable to move, willing him to come back with her mind, calling for him until her already hoarse voice was used up and nothing more than a breathy whisper came out. Then the silence engulfed her and the shadows settled around her, filling her with a dark loneliness. For the first time since she'd began to love Tyrion, she felt truly alone.


	21. Little Lion Man

**The song for this chapter is Little Lion Man by Mumford and Sons (LOVE!) but I used an awesome cover by David Ross! Please check him out! He is an awesome guy (and the YouTube video is pretty nice to look at).**

**I don't know if you will need tissues. Probably.**

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Chapter Twenty-One: Little Lion Man

Sansa sat dejectedly on the bench, head cradled in her hands and eyes squeezed shut. She was trying to block out the empty loneliness that had been eating away at her since Tyrion had left. He hadn't been joking. Podrick must have come in sometime during the night because when she woke in the morning, Tyrion's trunk of clothes and a good portion of his books were gone. Upon further investigation –and bribing her handmaiden –she had discovered that Tyrion had found new rooms and was spending his days working with Varys and the queen on finding a solution for the white walker problem brewing in the North. This only furthered Sansa's sadness and she spent her days replaying every wrong decision she had made and trying to think of a way to correct them in her head.

It had been over a month now. She had been trying to win Tyrion back, sending him letters of apology but so far nothing had changed. He was avoiding her and she knew this. They never saw each other at the same time. If she entered the throne room and he was there, he left. She was beginning to feel that perhaps there was no way to fix this. She had hurt him, pushed him away and held him at arm's length like everyone else he had known in his life and now she didn't know how to win back his love and trust. She wracked her brain day and night, searching for new options. Some days she was simply angry with him. How dare he accuse her of not putting for an effort! How dare he belittle her grief! By what right did he have to judge her coping methods? But the anger always vanished, leaving guilt and self-loathing in its place. Sansa was convinced that she had pushed him away so thoroughly, there was nothing she could do to get him back.

She heard footsteps crunching in the gravel announcing someone's approach. She raised her head hopefully; maybe he had finally forgiven her! But her face fell when she saw Dany approaching her, face blank.

"What are you doing out here alone," she asked, taking a seat next to her depressed friend. Sansa shrugged.

"I'm always alone now," she mumbled and Dany's blank face turned to one of sympathy.

"I take it your letters haven't been effective?" Sansa snorted.

"That's an understatement. He won't even acknowledge me."

"Perhaps your words are not enough," Dany suggested casually. Sansa turned to her, confused.

"What do you mean?" Dany smiled knowingly.

"Men like to feel like they are the center of your universe, Sansa. They like to feel appreciated and understood and loved. Tyrion has spent his entire life without any form of that. People say things to him all the time, simple courtesies and platitudes that have no meaning behind them. Tyrion is a man of action; it is not enough to _tell_ him you are sorry, you must _show_ him how committed you are to the relationship."

"But how do I do that? How do I show him that I am committed?" Dany smiled sadly.

"Well, his trepidation and anger comes from the fact that you fail to confide in him. Perhaps your should attempt doing just that."

"What do I tell him?" Dany chuckled dismally.

"Everything. You must start from the beginning and go on. Tell him every misgiving you've had, how you felt and feel now. You must show him that you have no secrets."

"How? He won't even be in the same room as me?" Dany smiled.

"You know that if you ask the right way, he will give you a chance." She patted her friend's knee and then stood and left, her guards following behind. Sansa stared after her and then turned her face to the plants surrounding her. She had to tell him everything? There was so much. Would he even listen for that long? Would he really listen at all? She didn't even know how to convince him to give her a chance. It seemed that the more time that passed, the more distant he seemed to become to her. It was like he was water and the more she tried to hold him in her hands, the faster he slipped away. She wasn't sure what to do anymore. But after her conversation with Dany, she knew that she needed to do something. Soon. A timer seemed to be counting down the seconds to the end of their relationship and the sand was almost gone.

Sansa stood, pacing in the small alcove of the garden, unnoticed by the nobles and servants passing. She tried to recall everything Tyrion had ever told her about himself. Facts flew through her head like arrows and she tried to grasp at any that could possibly help her. She thought about his love of books, his desire for honesty and trust, the torment he endured his entire life from his family, how close he and Jamie were, his loyalty and gentility, his sarcastic jokes and clever quips. How could she convince him to listen to her? How could she tell him all that he needed to hear and that she needed to say without frightening him away?

As she paced, she saw Podrick run past her secluded alcove, arms loaded with scrolls and books and suddenly, Sansa had an idea. She would have to talk to Dany about the use of some of the rooms in the Keep, but she knew that she would do everything in her power to ensure Sansa's success. The plan began to fall into place in her mind and she ran out of her hiding place only to smack into someone. She stumbled, trying to catch herself and laughed when she looked down and saw Tyrion's concerned face gazing up at her.

"Sansa, what-" he started to say but she just laughed,  
grabbing his hands and kissing them before dancing off down the path towards the Keep, details swimming in her head and a smile on her face because she knew how to fix this.

Now where was some paper?

~~~~~~AMS~~~~~~

Tyrion was miserable.

He thought that giving Sansa an ultimatum would make him feel liberated, pleased that he was finally taking control of his life and demanding respect and trust. But really, he was just miserable. He missed his wife. When he heard a noble say something ridiculous he would turn to make a sarcastic comment to her and find only empty air next to him. At night as he lay awake in the darkness, he noticed how big and vacant the bed seemed. The silence of his new rooms echoed around him, ringing in his ears and he waited for it to be punctured by Sansa's laughing or indistinct humming but it just carried on, filling the room. Yes, Tyrion felt wretched.

Despite his loneliness, he hadn't been able to bring himself to forgive Sansa yet. He couldn't give his heart back to her knowing that there was a chance it could be crushed. She'd sent him several letters and with each one he felt a miniscule piece of his heart heal a little but it had been nowhere near enough to change things. In her letters, she told him how sorry she was, how life without him wasn't the same. Tyrion appreciated the thought but it felt like she was sad that he was gone, not that she had hurt him. So he held his ground. Whenever she came into the room, he would leave. The closer he was to her, the more his resolve weakened and he knew that if they were to have a successful relationship, she needed to know that it wasn't okay to push him away. Then she all but knocked him over in the gardens today, kissed his hands and ran off. She'd looked happy, gleeful. Not like she missed him.

Damn it! He wanted a partnership. He wanted them on equal grounds, both contributing without either of them holding power over the other.

He wanted her, gods curse it!

Now as he sat at the work table in his chambers, he couldn't focus on his work. All he could think was that perhaps he had pushed Sansa away and she had realized that it was the better option. She had said she loved him and while he didn't doubt that, there were countless degrees of love. Perhaps she had not felt as deeply for him as he did for her. Desolation stole over his heart and he felt tears prick the corners of his eyes at the thought of losing her. If he went to her now, would she still have him? And even if she did, would it be because she couldn't live without him or because it was convenient?

A knock on his door pulled him from his dark reverie. He jumped slightly and then went to open it. Outside Podrick waited, back straight and to anyone less familiar with him that Tyrion, they wouldn't notice the slight twitch at the corners of his mouth that signaled a hidden smile.

"Yes, Pod," Tyrion asked after a moment, a little snappy from his dark thoughts.

"My lord, your presence is requested in the throne room." Tyrion frowned.

"By whom?"

"The queen, milord." There! Another twitch! He was lying!

"Podrick, if you are lying to me," he began threateningly but Podrick shook his head.

"I was sent her by the queen personally, milord." Tyrion considered that then sighed and followed Pod from the room.

"So are you going to tell me what has you trying not to smile," he asked conversationally.

"I'm afraid I can't, milord. I have been sworn to secrecy."

"I see. If I offered to pay you more money, would you tell me?" Podrick grinned and Tyrion raised his brow in surprise.

"You couldn't pay me to tell you this, milord," he said, all respect. They arrived at the doors to the throne room and Tyrion entered only to find it empty. He turned to Pod questioningly but his squire merely stood with his back to him. Tyrion entered the room slowly, cautiously until he spotted a scroll sitting on the seat of the Iron Throne. He approached it and then picked it up warily. His name was written on it and he opened it, surprise hitting him when he saw Sansa's familiar hand on the long page.

_Dearest Tyrion,_

_Do you remember a day that seems forever ago but will never be far enough away when you entered this room and saved me? I was hunched in front of the throne, broken and beaten and begging for death and you came in and everything stopped._

_I remember knowing that Joffrey was cruel. He took me to the spike where he had mounted my father's head, but I discovered his true level of cruelty that day. Beaten and punished in front of the court for something my brother did. Internally, I was pleased. I waited for the day when Robb beat down the gates to the city and took Joffrey's head. But I never expected Joffrey to beat me for it. I lived in a nonsensical world where they had to keep me alive and safe as a bargaining tool in the war against my family. But when Ser Meryn punched me in the belly, I knew that Joffrey's brutality had no limits. I was helpless as I was kicked and hit with a sword. My humiliation knew no bounds when I felt them rip my dress. I knew that Joffrey would have Ser Meryn rape me in front of the entire court and not one person would dare to speak against him._

_Except you._

_Your voice was angelic to my ears. Your stalwart honor championing for mine. I remember hearing it and then turning, watching as the courtiers just parted to make way for you. You were as tall as a king in that moment, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. You defended me against the king! I couldn't understand why at first. Why would you risk your neck and your safety for mine? I was the daughter of a believed traitor, my brother had yours prisoner. But I knew, even then, that you wouldn't let any harm befall me if you could stop it. I watched in disbelief as you threatened –yes, threatened. While you might claim otherwise, only a fool would believe that wasn't a threat –the King on my behalf. And then you approached. Slowly. Gently. I could almost see the rage leaving your body and gentleness taking its place. You offered me our hand and I couldn't take it at first. What if this was some cruel trick? What if I did and Joffrey killed us both? But I could see in the way you would barely meet my eyes, as though you were afraid of frightening me, that your only motivation was me._

_And so I took your hand._

_I listened to you apologize for Joffrey, wondering how you could be so brave, so openly disapproving of a king who would put the cruelty of the Mad King to the test. When you asked if I wanted out of the engagement, everything in me was screaming yes! I wanted to be free, to go home. I didn't want to be queen anymore. I didn't want to live my life married to a man who was cruel and sadistic. But I did not have the option. Even then, I did not believe that you could free me from my new prison. And so I told you what I was expected to say. And even without seeing your face, I could feel that surprised respect you held for me in that moment._

_You were my champion that day and almost every day since. You will always be my champion. And it is time that I was yours. It is time I start being your guardian and not the cause of your misery._

_Love,_

_Sansa_

_p.s. Podrick will take you where you need to go next._

Tyrion finished reading and then smiled to himself, rereading the last line. Then he turned and walked back across the room to Pod.

"Alright, Podrick, I will play along with Sansa's game. Where are we going to next?"

~~~~~AMS~~~~~

Tyrion entered Sansa's old chambers slowly, mind recalling their two serious conversations. The room was littered with the belongings of a stranger now, but no one screamed when he entered. He found another scroll sitting at the dressing table and he moved forward eagerly to pick it up.

_Dearest Tyrion,_

_It seems forever ago that you came into this room while I was being fitted for a dress. I couldn't understand why at first. We were never particularly friendly with one another and you didn't visit me often enough to merit it to be considered ordinary. You seemed so flustered, so agitated. I didn't know what to expect from you. But it certainly hadn't been what you said. I know that you had no control over it, that your father was forcing you to marry me. But in that moment I hated you, I hated you for being the one to ruin my chance at escape._

_Loras and I had been planning on being wed. For the first time since I had been locked away in this cursed city, I could taste the sweet scent of freedom. Loras was going to marry me and take me away to Highgarden, take me away from this terrible place. I was convinced that he was the very image of my girlhood dreams. Handsome and strong, a champion, the Knight of Flowers. To lose that dream of escape, of living what I had dreamed of since I was just a little girl was that much harder since I had already been disillusioned of my dream to be queen._

_It was a cruel twist of fate to not only be married to a Lannister, but to the Imp. I had thought that my troubles were over, that the gods were finally smiling down on me only to have freedom so ruthlessly yanked from my grasp. By marrying you, it ensured that I would never be free of Joffrey or King's Landing. It was a brilliant play of power on your father's part. And I hated you for it._

_Thinking about that now, I wish I could go back and tell my younger self how much happiness I would find being married to a man I swore would only bring me misery._

_Love,_

_Sansa_

Tyrion swallowed thickly, trying to dispel the emotion that was choking him. Then he turned and walked out the door, instructing Pod to continue on.

He stared at the high, vaulted ceilings , watching the light streaming through the high windows and igniting the dust motes with golden tones. His gaze moved up to the altar at which he and Sansa were married and he smiled when he saw a scroll lying on the ground at the top of the steps. He approached it and sat on the steps, reading her words.

_My darling Tyrion,_

_Do you remember standing on these steps, in this very spot and vowing your life and heart to mine? Do you remember joining our hands, and speaking the words to each other._

_You are mine and I am yours, from this day, till the end of my days._

_When I stood at the doors to this room, I couldn't imagine a worse fate waiting for me at the end of that aisle. When Joffrey walked me down, smirking like a fool while the court watched and laughed at me, I felt like there was nothing left for me in this world. I remember watching you draw closer, climbing those steps to stand by you and it felt like my heart would beat out of my chest, I was so frightened. But when Joffrey took your stool, I remember feeling sorry for you. This was already a hard enough thing but to remove your ability to do your duty was a low blow._

_I could hear them laughing at you, at us, but I couldn't bring it in myself to look. When you asked me if I would kneel, I felt mortified but you had been kind to me, promised to protect me. I was willing to at least do my duty as your wife. So I kneeled. And that night at our wedding feast, when you were drunk beyond recognition Joffrey threatened me. I never told you because I didn't believe that you could protect me. He was the king and the only person who seemed to be able to bring him to heel was your father and even then, his power over him was limited. Joffrey had a habit of bringing his guards with him and cornering me in private places, where no one would see and run and tell your father. He would hurt me, or have someone do it for him._

_That night he threatened to come in after you had fallen asleep and rape me. It was right after that that he tried to instigate the bedding ceremony. I was terrified, mortified. I couldn't move, couldn't think. And then your voice rang through like a beacon of hope, just like when he had tried to have Ser Meryn rape me before. You were once again coming to my rescue, threatening the man who threatened me. When you pretended to be joking, I admit I was a little relieved. So often you act and speak without thinking of the further consequences of your actions. Such a blatantly violent threat against Joffrey was sure to bring you pain and suffering. So when you over dramatically stumbled from your chair and bid me to follow, I was only to happy to get away from Joffrey and his menacing threats._

_And then when I thought for sure that you would perform a husband's duty as your father ordered, you surprised me by telling me no. You gave me the option and allowed me to choose for myself whether or not we would have a traditional marriage. Even when I told you that we might never have a traditional marriage, you did the honorable thing and allowed me the option to choose, incurring the wrath of your father._

_I told my father once that I didn't want someone brave and gentle and strong. I was convinced that Joffrey was my one true love. But I can see now that I was just a silly little girl with nonsensical notions of romance. You are the bravest man I have ever known. You have stood against kings and Death without faltering. You have the strength of a thousand men. You have withstood a lifetime of pain and suffering at the hands of your family. You have suffered through a Sky Cell and battles against enemies twice your size. And you remained strong against the political games of the capitol. And even in anger, you have never struck me. You have been gentle to me even when I have done nothing but push you away._

_I told you on our wedding day that I doubted you knew how I felt and I was right. But I was the one who refused to tell you. How could I expect you to know how I was feeling, what I was thinking? I pushed you away, forced you try and guess how to help me. It was unfair of me especially when I promised to love you and you offered me comfort unconditionally._

_When we stood on this spot and were married, you changed my life forever. I am yours and you are mine, from this day, till the end of my days._

_Love,_

_Sansa_

Tyrion wiped a tear from his cheek. Anger was still surging through his body at Joffrey's threats but this heartfelt apology from his wife finally seemed to burn through the haze of confusion and hurt that had been ruling his life for the past month. He swallowed thickly, turning to look back at the altar again and then standing and exiting the room.

~~~~~AMS~~~~~

Tyrion gazed around the gardens, hoping to catch a glimpse of his wife but that area of the garden remained empty. On the bench where Sansa had sat and told him of sheep shifting, a familiar looking scroll waited for him.

_Dear Tyrion,_

_You told me on this walk that we were perfect for each other. At the time, I laughed because I thought that was ridiculous. I was the disgraced daughter of a man who had plotted treason against the king and you were the Imp, the demon monkey. No two could be less suited for each other._

_But we are perfect for each other. It still amazes me how perfectly we complement each other. I could never have chosen for myself a match as ideal and wonderful as you. You have made life so much better for me, shown me a love that I was sure I would never experience. I have known such happiness with you._

_I sat on this bench and I told you how we could avenge your honor. Your battles became my battles and with the sun shining on us and the birds singing, I felt happy for the first time since coming to King's Landing. I felt like maybe, just maybe, we could make this marriage work, that we could have some sense of happiness._

_I want this to work, Tyrion. I realize that I have made so many mistakes since our wedding but I think we can move past them. I will do whatever it takes to ensure that you know how much I love you. I've pushed you out but I don't want to do that anymore. I don't want to handle things on my own, to deal with the pain alone. I want you beside me, to hold me when I cry and to listen to my fears. And I want to be there for you. I want to be the one you come to when you've had a harrowing day, the one to ease your fears and to just hold you when something horrible happens and I can't even fix it._

_I know that it will take time for you to forgive me, but if you do, then just know that I'm committed to making this work no matter the sacrifice._

_Love,_

_Sansa_

Tyrion handed the scroll to Pod who added it to the growing bundle in his arms.

"How many more, Podrick," he asked. He just wanted to see his wife.

"Just a few more, milord."

~~~~~~AMS~~~~~~

Tyrion entered their chambers slowly, eyes darting around the room looking for Sansa. When he realized it was empty, he found he was surprised to be disappointed. His gaze rested on the freshly made bed and the mostly empty bookshelves and he felt guilt tingle at the back of his mind. It seemed so lonely now, so empty and devoid of life. On Sansa's dressing table, a scroll waited for him.

_Dearest Tyrion,_

_Maester Pycelle once told my father that a person's last words were as important as their first. Honestly, I think he was an idiot. I was by Margaery's side before she died. When I got the news that she was gone, I was looking for you. I knew something bad was going to happen, somehow. But I thought it would be to you or me, not Margaery and her unborn child._

_Margaery was my first and only friend in King's Landing. Did you know that? At first, I couldn't understand her motivations for befriending me. She was Joffrey's new queen. Even after I told her and Lady Olenna about what a monster Joffrey was, she still remained engaged to him. So I was very cautious about how close I let her get to me. But after a while, I realized she was honestly and genuinely interested in how I felt. Talking to Margaery allowed me a small amount of freedom._

_It was Margaery who outlined the benefits of marrying you. She was the voice of reason, of logic, when I was overcome with only emotion. She made me see that it could have been worse. You had been king and gentle to me, and you hadn't abused me in any way. If anything you had been my protector. Margaery helped me see that._

_Margaery's last words to me haunted me every day after her death. She said to tell you that I love you because life is short and everyone expects there to be a tomorrow. But after she died, I wrestled with myself about doing so. I was so concerned with telling you and having it used against me, of losing you. I let my fear get the better of me and because of that I was nearly sick with guilt._

_When I finally decided to tell you, it was after you'd gone to the war council with your father. I didn't want it to be too late. What a piteous fool I was. It was already too late. I couldn't tell you and then lose you in battle. So I remained silent. I tried to convey my deep adoration for you in actions but I should have stopped being so selfish and scared and just said it._

_I miss Margaery every day. I miss having her sense of clarity and her ability to just see a situation for what it truly is. But I only desire one person to be my sole confidant._

_You._

_I want to tell you everything, even about the most boring parts of my day. I've missed that since you left, so much. I want to laugh with you when we sheep shift someone's bed for laughing at us, knowing that we shared that secret from planning to action to reaction. I want to cry with you on days when I miss my family too much to function. I want to come to you with the silliest of questions. When you went to war, I prayed vigilantly for your safe return. I promised them anything as long as I could have you back._

_But now I'm promising you, my love. I promise to open my soul and heart to you completely. No secrets, no guessing. Complete and total honesty._

_Love,_

_Sansa_

_p.s. One more._

Tyrion bolted from their room, ordering Pod to lead him, wanting nothing more than to see his wife, to hold her.

~~~~~AMS~~~~~

Tyrion looked around the cliff face in confusion. Where was the last leter? Had it blown into the ocean? He turned and Pod held out a scroll, bowing.

"You had it this whole time," he asked in slight outrage.

"Aye, milord. My instructions were very clear."

"Just who's wellbeing are you loyal to," Tyrion mumbled, miffed.

"Yours, milord," Pod said quietly and Tyrion realized how true that was. Had Pod given him the last scroll before now, he wouldn't have appreciated the words inside it.

"You're a good man, Podrick Payne," he said fondly before sitting on a rock and unrolling the last scroll.

_My love,_

_I've saved the most difficult confession for last. Part of me still shies away from talking about our son but grief is like a poison: it only hurts more if you keep it in._

_The cliff on which you are sitting is the place I used to come after that terrible night. I used to sit on the edge and stare out at the ocean. I used to imagine I was a bird, free nd unburdened, flying above the city and the sea. This was my solitude but it was wrong. After enduring through our son's death, solitude was probably the worst thing I could have done. I already felt so alone, so singular in my grief that cutting myself off from the world only made my loneliness stronger._

_After we were wed, before Margaery died, I worried that we hadn't become pregnant. I was sure that there was something wrong with me. Margaery told me not to worry, that sometimes it takes time to make a child. So when Daenerys told me I had a little lion or lioness inside me, I was overjoyed and relieved. There wasn't anything wrong with me! We were going to have a baby! It took every ounce of control not to tell you. I didn't want ot be the cause of more heartache for you (though now that seems ridiculous). And the love that you showed me and our baby only helped to assuage my fears._

_You were right when you said I wasn't trying. That night when we went to bed, everything seemed so perfect, so beautiful. It was the complete opposite of what happened later. The pain was more terrible than anything I've ever experienced. But I would take the pain a thousand times over if our son could still be here with us._

_Getting pregnant made me miss my mother. I wished desperately that I could have her with me, to offer advice. When we lost him, my anguish was increased by the recent loss of my family. But you are my family._ We _are a family now, even if our child didn't survive. Instead of mourning the loss of parents and siblings that I would have lost –in a manner of speaking –after marriage, I should have turned to you, rejoiced that we still had each other._

_I love you, Tyrion. I'm ashamed it took me so long to tell you and that it will take even longer to prove it to you. You are the best thing that's ever happened to me. I will probably never get over losing our baby. But I would never survive losing you, my little lion man. I have been an idiot and I pray that it is not too late._

_So come and find me, my love. Come and tell me it is not too late, that this isn't the end. I will be waiting in the place where I pledged my life to yours, where I would have sacrificed everything to be with you._

_Yours,_

_Sansa_

Tyrion frowned in confusion. Where they were married? Is that what she meant? He racked through his memories, trying to think of what she meant.

_"So if you would kill my husband, your grace, you must also put the sword to my neck. For a world without him would be like a night without the moon or the stars. I am his wife and I will remain with him until time ends."_

Tyrion stood up, realization dawning on him. He began walking quickly from the side of the Red Keep to the gate.

_"I am yours and you are mine, from this day to the end of my days," she whispered back._

His feet picked up pace and soon he arrived outside the throne room doors. He slowed down when he saw Sansa standing in the center of the room, back to him. He walked to the top of the steps and then stopped, suddenly nervous.

"Sansa," he said. She turned around quickly and her face melted into a smile when she saw him. He flew down the steps, suddenly unable to stand the thought of being away from her any longer. She met him halfway and dropped to her knees before he reached her and suddenly, _finally_ , she was in his arms and he was in hers. He could feel her heart beating against his chest and smell the sweet lavender of her hair. She was sobbing into his shoulder and he could scarcely keep the tears at bay.

"I'm sorry," she chanted softly and he shushed her softly, brushing her hair back from her tear stained face.

"Oh my sweet Sansa," he said brushing his lips against her forehead. "You are the most amazing, wonderful, beautiful, maddening woman I have ever met," he said and she smiled.

"Can you forgive me," she asked softly and he laughed before pressing his lips to hers passionately.

"I will always forgive you, little wolf," he whispered against her lips.


	22. Winter Winds

 

**The song for this chapter is Winter Winds by Mumford and Sons. Love how perfect this is for this chapter. I was going to use it for another chapter but it fits this one better.**

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**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not the Iron Throne, not the North and definitely not Tyrion Lannister. But oh the things I could do if I did.**

Chapter Twenty-Two: Winter Winds

Sansa slipped from her saddle, stretching her muscles in delight and smiling as she took in the scenery around her. She moved from the road to the snow banks around her. Her thick winter cloaks trailed around her through the snow as she moved to crouch down to touch the familiar powdery white substance. She laughed as she turned her face up to the falling flakes, catching them on her tongue just as she used to when she was a child. She heard Tyrion laughing behind her and she turned to stick her tongue out at him.

"I didn't realize that we were so desperate for food we were eating the snow," he called to her and she laughed, undeterred by his teasing.

"With the inns you have been choosing to eat at, snow is the only thing that sounds appetizing," she teased back. He chuckled and joined her, while she played gleefully in the snow, unaware of the cold as only a Northerner could be.

They'd been traveling for almost a month now, making their way further north to Winterfell. After being held prisoner in King's Landing for so long, it was time for a change of scenery. So they had made their goodbyes to everyone in the capitol, packed their belongings and headed north. They were only days from Winterfell and the closer they got to Sansa's childhood home, the happier she seemed to become. Tyrion felt a sense of dread the closer they got to the capitol of the north. He was sure that while Daenerys had pardoned him, the Northerners would still loathe him for his last name. Tyrion wanted this to work. He wanted Sansa's transition here to be as stress free as possible and he was worried that the Northerners would see her as a traitor for marrying him, despite not having a choice.

Tyrion also worried about his wife's reaction to the only partially rebuilt wreckage of her home. Varys's little birds had told him that the charred remains of Winterfell were a gruesome sight. The only parts of the fortress that had escaped destruction were the catacombs and stone towers. Inside the keep, it was a mess. Little had survived the fiery assault and Tyrion felt horrible that there was nothing left of the Stark family's for its eldest daughter to cherish.

He'd watched, filled with a silent joy, as they had moved further from King's Landing and the memories of the atrocities suffered there. Sansa had become more carefree, sharing her smiled easier. As they reached the Northern border, she was nearly glowing. Once they had crossed over into the harsh, snow covered terrain he watched as she seemed to change before his very eyes. She was a child of the North and the snow and cold seemed to run in her veins. She never looked more beautiful than at that moment as she twirled around in the falling snow, cheeks rosy from the wind, furs wrapped around her. Her hair was braided in the simple fashion of her home country and her eyes sparkled like the crystalline flakes that were catching in her hair.

"Come on, little wolf. We'd better hurry or we won't make it to the inn before dark," he said, turning to walk back to the horses. He felt something cold hit the back of his head and he whipped around in surprise. Sansa was clutching her stomach, laughing, the snow next to her disturbed. "You little minx," he muttered, reaching down and scooping up a handful of snow before patting it into a sphere and lobbing it at his wife, catching her in the shoulder.

"You hit me," she shouted in mock outrage. She began to scramble in the snow making more snowballs to throw at him. He began to do the same, ducking as she threw another at him. He sent a few of the cold balls towards her as he raced for the cover of the trees. He heard one of her snowballs disintegrate against the trunk of the tree he was standing behind. He listened, peeking out only to see the empty clearing and the road where their horses, Bronn, Pod and a few men at arms were talking and joking, waiting for them. He turned around and his face was immediately engulfed in freezing snow. He blinked, shaking his head and saw his wife doubled over in laughter. He tackled her to snow and tickled her until they were both gasping for air and covered in white. He turned his head to meet her gaze and then took her hand, kissing the frozen fingers.

"I don't think I've ever seen you this happy," he commented quietly.

"There's something magical about being back here again," she sighed. "There's just something about the snow and the cold that makes me want to sing." Tyrion grinned.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, brushing a hand over snow adorned hair. She smiled. "I'm happy that this is making you happy. I think we could both use some happiness after all that we've been through." She gazed at him then smiled warmly, kissing his cheek.

"Come on," she said, standing up and pulling him after her. "Let's go get warm. In fact, let's go get hot and sweaty." She winked and Tyrion found that he couldn't get to his horse –or the inn –fast enough.

~~~~~AMS~~~~~

After they had reached the inn and spent the night keeping each other awake –and warm –they sat down to breakfast in the great room, Bronn and their companions entertaining them with stories of different inns they had visited. Tyrion kept a close watch on his wife, soaking up her smiles like sunlight. A man moved up to their table, eyes hard as he glared at Sansa. Everyone became quiet and Tyrion waited with bated breath while Bronn laid his hand to his sword.

"Aren't you Sansa Stark," the man asked in a clipped tone. Sansa turned her attention to him, eyes meeting his and then looking away.

"I was. I'm married now," she said in a quiet voice. Tyrion's eyes moved to her face but it was carefully blank.

"I heard you married a Lannister," the man mocked. "I heard you married the Imp," he said, eyes moving hatefully to Tyrion. He opened his mouth to respond but Sansa's hand covered his in a warning and he looked at her to see her jaw tighten and her shoulders straighten.

"You heard correctly," she said confidently, meeting the man's eyes. "Who do I have the pleasure of addressing?"

"I was one of your father's bannermen," he said.

"Which house," she asked politely and the man straightened his shoulders.

"I serve Greatjon Umber," he said and Sansa nodded.

"I'm familiar with Lord Umber. He was a good friend to my father and loyal to my brother Robb."

"More than I could say about you, milady. Marrying a Lannister? Throwing your lot in with the family that is responsible for the death of your father, mother and brothers. If you're father could see you now-"

"If my father could see me now, he would approve of my marriage," Sansa said sharply and the man went silent. "My father cared about my happiness, not what my last name was. And I know who was responsible for the deaths of my family and they are both dead. My husband is a just man," she said, standing up and gesturing to Tyrion who was watching the scene unfold, struck silent by the imposing demeanor his wife was exuding. "He has saved my life countless times. Do you honestly believe that Eddard Stark's oldest daughter would remain married to a man she did not wish to be attached to? I am a Stark of Winterfell," she declared harshly. "I will not allow myself to be bullied or manipulated by anyone, not even a man of House Umber. My husband is Tyrion Lannister and he has my respect and as Warden of the North, should have yours as well." The man stared at Sansa for a moment before he kneeled, placing his sword in the ground in front of him.

"It is good to have you back, Lady Sansa," he said and Tyrion watched in amazement as half the men in the inn followed his lead. Sansa raised her chin, gazing at the men around the room individually.

"It is good to be back," she finally said to the room. "If you see your lords today, please tell them what I have said and that they may come see me at Winterfell when I arrive if they have any doubts." The men murmured their compliance and Sansa sat, regal as a queen and calmly began to eat again. Tyrion gawked at her, mouth open in awe.

"What," she asked after a moment.

"You are a truly frightening, beautiful creature, little wolf," he whispered and she smiled.

"I imagine that is what happens when you cross a lion and a direwolf," she said, winking and he began to laugh.

"To my lady," he toasted and those in the room and at their table joined him. "May she never turn that temper on me." The men cheered and drank and Sansa began to laugh again. Tyrion realized in that moment that though he had once justified himself to his father by claiming that Sansa's respect would earn him respect as opposed to demanding it, that was actually how it was. His wife was a princess of Winterfell and she had just claimed loyalty to him. He felt himself overcome with gratitude for the day that the septon had bound their hands with cloth and declared them married.

"I love you, little wolf," he whispered in her ear and she smiled.

"And I you, my little lion man."


	23. Give Your Heart A Break

**The song for this chapter is Give Your Heart a Break originally by Demi Lovato but because I hate original artists, I am using the cover by Julia Sheer.**

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Chapter Twenty Three: Give Your Heart a Break

"Tyrion, would you ask Pod for another blanket?" Sansa moved the covers back on their bed distractedly. Tyrion complied easily and then moved back to unpacking their belongings. Sansa sighed and moved to the window, gazing out at the dark night, the fires burning along the wall.

Arriving at Winterfell had been a double edged sword for Sansa. She hadn't been expecting to see the destruction from the havoc wreaked upon it. Watching men rebuild the halls and rooms that she had once played in made her heart ache. She felt like she had lost her family all over again, knowing that not only were they gone but their once happy home had been destroyed. Tyrion seemed to understand exactly what she was feeling because he made sure that he was with her every step, offering support and comfort. She was excited to start a new page in the tragedy that had been her life for the past year or so and she enjoyed familiarizing herself with the manor again. Once she had used these rooms and the courtesies required in them as a practice ground and now she was mistress of the manor she had grown up in.

Tyrion proudly showed her the repairs that were being made and she had enjoyed his excitement at his new position. The Umber man at the inn had introduced Sansa to the harsh reality that not everyone was going to understand or agree with her choice of husband. She had expected a little resistance but she was surprised by how easily her speech had swayed the angry man. She had grown up knowing how much the Northerners respected and loved her father. She had always assumed it was because he was the Warden of the North as well as a generous leader. It seemed that much of their love and respect was for who the Starks were, period. She didn't want to have to reiterate her lineage every time she wanted to make a point. After the inn, she felt like perhaps she was strong enough and commanded enough respect to avoid using the same arguments.

She felt Tyrion's hand on hers and she turned, smiling when she saw how worried his gaze was.

"Let's go to bed," he said, leading her to the bed gently. She climbed on, adjusting herself to the nostalgic feel of furs covering her. Tyrion scooted across the mattress until he was right next to her. She positioned herself against him, head on his shoulder and legs entwined with his. His hand made its way through her hair while she rubbed her fingertips along his arm.

"You're in bed with me but I feel like your thoughts are elsewhere," she said after a minute. He sighed.

"I guess this change is just a lot to process," he said.

"I understand," she whispered. "I keep expecting to see my brothers in the archery yard or my mother in the solar. It's strange being back here and having everything be different." He kissed her forehead reassuringly.

"Why did you stand up for me at the inn," he asked after a moment of contemplative silence.

"Because you're my husband. Because I love you. I understand why he said the things he did, felt the way he did but I had to defend you. I am determined to rid the world of its preformed opinion of your character, especially by those who have never met you. I can't imagine a better man to spend my life with. I wish that everyone else would see that too."

"Have I ever mentioned how you are too good for me?"

"Several times. But I take it as seriously as I do your telling me that bedding you is the only way to help you fall asleep."

"That is completely true. I always sleep after I've had you," he said matter of factly and she laughed and hit his chest lightly.

"I've seen you pass out after eating a good meal. Next you'll be telling me that the only way to fall asleep is to feast."

"Food isn't nearly as satisfying as you are," he growled in her ear and she laughed, breath quickening. He moved so that he was straddling her and linked their hands together, kissing the back of each of hers before resting them above her head.

"I want this to work," she admitted softly and he smiled sadly.

"I do too. I want us to just… live. Seven hells, I want us to be able to go places without looking over our shoulders and wondering who is watching us. I want us to be able to go for walks in the Godswood. And as stupid as it sounds, I want to be a good Warden of the North. I want the men to come to me with their problems. I want their loyalty and respect. But I've never had those things. I have had to fight my entire life for even a scrap of that. When my father made me Hand of the King, people still thought that I was evil, behind all the misfortunes that Joffrey was inflicting on them. They called me the 'demon monkey' and I was the only person who was trying to save the city.

"But I am a Lannister. My family killed your father and the rest of your family. I feel like the Northerners are as likely to respect and follow me as they are Theon Greyjoy. I can't force them to follow me but I want them to all the same. I just don't know how to get their respect." He growled in frustration and she gently pushed him off of her so that she could kneel in front of him. She grasped his hands in hers.

"You are the most wonderful man I have ever met. I trust that you will lead these men and rule over them with the same honor and wisdom that you do every other task you set your mind to. We will over my kinsman and then we will rule over the North for Daenerys justly. We _will_ live. Happily. I'm not a fool. I know that heartache and pain won't ignore us. But I know that as long as I have you by my side, I will be able to get through anything."

Tyrion pressed his lips to hers fervently, pulling her closer to him.

"I love you," he whispered. "You are the greatest thing that has ever happened to me," he said with a smile. She laughed.

"You are a king," she whispered, taking his face in her hands and pulling his lips to hers. He kissed her back eagerly.

"I know this will be difficult," he whispered against her skin. "But I think I could rule a universe at war as long as I had you ruling with me."


	24. Counting Stars

 

**The song for this chapter is Counting Stars by OneRepublic. The one band I never use covers for.**

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Chapter Twenty Four: Counting Stars

Sansa made her way toward the Godswood, her stride brisk. She glanced around surreptitiously, relieved when no one seemed to be paying much attention to her. She moved into the stillness of the forest and sighed in relief, pace slowing as the calm of the wood embraced her. She breathed in the rich scent of moist earth and sighed, feeling some of her stress melting away. Thoughts swirled in her head like they were being thrown around by the winter winds that ravaged the countryside.

She sat at the edge of the pool, under the weirwood, and gazed at the still surface of the water, trying to force her thoughts to mimic the still water. She wasn't sure what to do. She hadn't been expecting this to happen! She was lost, unsure of what she should do next. Should she tell Tyrion? Could she tell Tyrion? Could she offer up the promise of bliss only to have it snatched away again? She put her head in her hands, feeling the familiar throbbing ache of a headache pounding behind her skull. That was what she had gone to the maester for originally. She'd just wanted something to take the headache away. And the discovery that followed…

Tyrion's face filled her mind, his mouth curved in a smile, the joy that they had come to Winterfell for shining from his face. But in his eyes, she could see the dark cloud of doubt. In the curve of his smile she could see the frown of fear. His beautiful face would be marred by the emotions that he couldn't hide from her.

They certainly hadn't been trying to make a baby. After arriving at Winterfell, life began to take on a new sort of routine. While their intimate nights hadn't been abandoned, there were still reservations between them that had yet to be alleviated. Sansa put every effort into showing Tyrion how much she loved him, how she refused to take him for granted. Tyrion responded in kind by practicing in gestures to show his affection. Life had taken on a happier tone than when they lived in the capitol. Things weren't perfect by any means. Sansa's kinsmen had their reserves about her husband and they weren't quiet about it either. Sansa had lost count of how many times a lord under their rule had come to Winterfell to complain and refuse to swear his allegiance. Nine out of ten of them had left with their minds –if not changed –at least opened to possibilities. Sansa was tempted to take the few that remained unconvinced of Tyrion's dedication to their wellbeing and crack their skulls together. They were being hardheaded and ridiculous. She knew that only time would attest to Tyrion's ability to rule over the North justly. However, this logic did not alleviate her desire to spare her husband the discouragement that he was subjected to.

Sometimes Sansa wished that she could protect Tyrion from everything. If she were strong enough, she would fight every battle for him. She would seek justice for every foul word, every wrong doing against him. She would be his shield, catching anything that sought to harm him. But that was an unrealistic dream. She knew that each trial she and her loving husband faced, they would grow and mature. But after suffering such atrocities his entire life at the hands of his family, why should he have to continue to suffer at the hands of strangers, of men who should pledge their loyalty to him? It wasn't fair. But as Sansa's father had once told her, life rarely was.

Life had certainly proved true when the maester told her a couple months ago that she had Tyrion's baby in her belly. She hadn't known that the headaches were because of the pregnancy. She just thought it was her kinsmen's stupidity trying her patience. She certainly hadn't been sick like she was the last time. The maester had sat her down, explaining to her that not all sickness was the same when it came to carrying a child. She hadn't been able to fight down the rush of joy that filled her when he shared his revelation with her. But it had quickly been doused by the icy fear of losing another child. She still didn't know if there was something wrong with her. What if her body was ill equipped to growing a healthy child?

And how could she tell Tyrion without knowing for sure whether or not this baby would see life? He was already so strained, she hated to add to the weight of his anxiety. A baby would be a joyous gift, a true blessing on their new efforts to make Winterfell home, to move on from all the violence and mayhem of their past. But could she stand losing her second child? Could she weather the emotional storm that threatened to overtake her? She didn't know the first thing about being a mother and she wondered if maybe it would have been better if they hadn't gotten pregnant. They could sort out the mess of the North without fear of a child distracting them.

Sansa shook her head at the ancient and holy tree. She bowed her head slowly.

"Please," she prayed, to any god that would listen, old or new, "let this baby be healthy. Let this baby live." She stood and began to walk slowly back towards the castle, hands wrapped protectively around her abdomen. She would protect this child, no matter the cost or risk. She would not let another of her children face the Stranger. This child would be safe and loved. She made her way through the courtyard, eyes scanning the men working there. None of them paid her much notice and she hurried until she was back in her chambers, laying down on the bed and placing her arm over her eyes to shut out the light.

"Sansa, have you seen my… what's wrong," she sat up slowly as Tyrion came around to her side of the bed, taking her hand and cupping her cheek.

"My head is aching. I'm sure it will go away soon," she said unconcernedly. He frowned.

"You've been having headaches a lot recently," he observed worriedly. "Have you seen the maester about it?"

"Yes. He said he would find something to help me."

"Did he say what might be causing it?" Sansa looked away and Tyrion was immediately suspicious. She turned back to him and smiled.

"I am sure it is just the frustrations from our bannermen," she assured him and he gazed into her eyes. He could sense the secret there, something the maester had told her that she wasn't sharing. But he kept it to himself. He didn't want to push Sansa. This was her chance to come to him with anything and he didn't want that to be because he was forcing her to. She would tell him when she was ready. Perhaps she just needed time to process whatever news she had received. Tyrion begged the gods that it wasn't bad news. He didn't think they could take much more.

"Well, you just rest. I promised Lord Umber that we could go riding today. I think he wants to talk to me about the Karstarks. I'll be home in time for supper," he promised, placing a loving kiss to her cheek. He turned to leave but she grabbed his hand, pulling him back. She placed a sweetly tender kiss to his lips and then smiled. He smiled back at her before leaving. Sansa sighed and looked down at her still flat belly. She rubbed it soothingly and then smiled.

"Don't you worry, baby. We won't let anything happen to you."


	25. She Wolf (Falling To Pieces)

**The song for this chapter is She Wolf (Falling to Pieces) originally by David Guetta but the cover I am using is by some chick named Beth. If you look her up (I used Spotify), that's seriously what she's listed as. Beth.**

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Chapter Twenty Five: She Wolf (Falling to Pieces)

Tyrion turned the pages of his books idly, mind otherwise occupied. He gazed out the window, focus internal. He knew Sansa was keeping something from him. Whatever it was didn't seem to be upsetting her because she only seemed distracted, not troubled. He didn't want to push her into telling him yet. He wanted her to know that he trusted her. But his curiosity was getting the better of him. He was tempted to ask her about her secret every time they were alone together. He was driving himself mad, imagining all the different options of what she could be keeping from him.

"You don't have to pretend," a voice said from behind him and he sighed, flipping his book closed. He turned to look at Sansa as she leaned in the doorway, gazing at him concernedly.

"I'm not pretending anything," he said carefully. She arched a brow gracefully and he smiled. She laughed and walked closer to him, standing next to his chair.

"Please, Tyrion, I'm not an idiot. I know that you know I'm keeping something from you," she said quietly. "But you haven't asked what it is. Which makes me think that you either don't want to know or you're waiting for me to tell you." He bit his lip ruefully.

"Alright, I have been wondering. But I am determined not to say anything. You'll tell me when you feel it's time. As difficult as it might be to restrain my curiosity, I am determined to give you as much time as you need until you tell me." She stared at him and then smiled gratefully.

"Thank you," she whispered, leaning down and pressing her lips against his. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her onto his lap, deepening the kiss. She squirmed against him and he groaned.

"You are using a special kind of torture on me," he said huskily, pulling her face back to his. His mouth moved over hers earnestly. His lips brushed against hers hungrily and she felt the familiar pull of desire pool in her abdomen. His hands came up to her jaw, cupping her cheeks as his tongue sought entrance to her mouth. She granted him access and moaned when his tongue tangled with hers. She turned, grasping his face in both of her hands roughly, moving her mouth against his with an urgency that Tyrion had yet to experience with her. There was a lustful insistence in her touch that made his blood boil. She pulled at his clothes, growling when they got stuck. He laughed and pulled at them, helping her until they came free of his head. He groaned when she immediately leaned down and pressed her lips to his skin, biting him lightly.

He growled and adjusted himself so that she was straddling him, thrusting his hips into hers and grabbing her hips roughly at the waves of pleasure that bubbled in his blood. He pulled at her dress, untying the laces at her waist and grabbing the fabric roughly, moving it away from her shoulder and replacing it with his lips. He moved his mouth over her soft skin, trailing down to the edge of her shift, tugging at it with his teeth. Sansa moaned and arched toward him, pulling at her shift until it was free of her body. Tyrion leaned in and pressed his mouth to her breast, sucking on the velvety skin there. She whimpered and curled her hands in his hair, pulling roughly. He groaned against her skin and pulled her tighter against him, grinding into her.

Sansa leaned back, pulling at the laces of his breeches, pulling the flaps apart hurriedly. As soon as he was free of his imprisonment, she settled on top of him, groaning in satisfaction as he entered her fully. He gasped, pulling at her hips as she set a hard rhythm for him. He groaned at the sensations coursing through his body. Never had they joined like this. This was rough and rapid, full of urgency and need and lust. There was no slow build, no display of their deep emotions. This was lust, pure and simple. Sansa buried her face in Tyrion's neck, sucking at his pulse point. He grabbed at her bare back, digging his fingers into her soft skin and gripping her tightly while she rode him.

He could feel his release building, growing closer. Sansa's movements were beginning to grow erratic and uncontrolled. He pulled her mouth roughly to his and claimed it with a feral possessiveness. He could feel the perspiration on her skin, slick against his, the heat building between them. Sansa was moving against him, over him until he felt like he would explode. His movements sped up until he felt Sansa coming around him. She cried out as the ecstasy overtook her. Tyrion followed close after, spilling into her and grunting in pleasure.

She slid off of him, reclining on his lap and resting her head by his as they both lay there and panted, struggling to catch their breath.

"So… that was different," Tyrion finally said and Sansa laughed. "Have you always wanted to do that?"

"No," she admitted through a chuckle. "I just… I couldn't control myself. You started kissing me and I needed you, right then." He turned his head to cock an eyebrow at her and she blushed.

"You know, Jamie once told me that a woman was better if she was under control," he said and she cocked an eyebrow. "I think I have to disagree with him however. I find that the best woman is the one who has completely lost control," he said, biting her lip playfully.

"Perhaps I should lose control more often then," she whispered teasingly, moving her lips along his jaw. He let out a breathy chuckle.

"If you must." She kissed him lovingly and then pulled back, meeting his eyes.

"Thank you for understanding," she said sincerely. "I know I haven't done anything to merit your trust in me like this, but I appreciate it all the same. I understand how much I'm asking of you, but if you trust me, I promise it will all be worth it." Tyrion smiled at her warmly.

"I trust you, Sansa. That hasn't ever changed. It won't ever change. When you're ready, you tell me what you need to. I will wait for you, little wolf. You are the most important thing in my life. I will do whatever it takes to make you happy."

"I love you, little lion man."

"And I you, little wolf."


	26. Heaven

**The song for this chapter is Heaven originally by Bryan Adams but I found a delightful cover by John Barrowman (he played Jack Harkness on Doctor Who) and there is also another cover by Boyce Avenue.**

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Chapter Twenty Six: Heaven

Sansa laughed as Tyrion's hands moved over her sides, moving over her skin and muscles until she felt like she was going to faint from laughing so hard. She laughed harder as his deep, joyful laughter surrounded her.

"Mercy," she gasped out and he relented, letting her head fall into his lap as she struggled to regain her breath. "That wasn't very fair of you," she pouted at him and he chuckled, brushing hair from her forehead softly and she felt goosebumps erupt on her skin at the touch.

"That's what you get for trying to trick me into believing that I had misplaced my favorite book when you had it hidden under your pillow the entire time," he said and she giggled. He grinned down at her. She gazed up at him lovingly and he sighed contentedly.

"I'm sorry. But you hog it! How am I supposed to enjoy the ballads if you cannot share?" She folded her arms in the image of reprimand and he struggled not to start tickling her again.

"Perhaps I do not want you reading it? Maybe I think it's inappropriate for your innocent mind," he teased and she scoffed.

"I think I have proved to you just how far from innocent I am," she muttered, arching a brow and his breathing hitched. She had. She had been passionately far from innocent every night for the last week. Part of him wondered what the change in her appetite meant but the predominant part of him just accepted it with a grain of salt and said that he wasn't going to say no to her.

"You have indeed," he said, pressing his lips to hers gently. She kissed him back sweetly and then sat up.

"I'm ready to tell you," she said suddenly and Tyrion stiffened, concern immediately stiffening his muscles. She shook her head and moved her hands soothingly over his arms until he calmed under her touch. She bent down, looking at her knees. When she raised her head, tears made her eyes bright.

"I didn't tell you before because I was waiting to know if it was really going to happen," she started and he frowned in confusion. "I was worried that if I told you and then something happened, that would be the final knot in the noose around our necks. I couldn't take the idea of another bad thing happening to us. We've endured so much and I couldn't give you false hope without being as sure as possible that things would work out." He was still frowning in confusion but she surprised him by breaking into a breathtaking smile and grabbing his hand. She rested it gently against her stomach and it took him a moment to realize what she was doing. His eyes flew wildly up to hers and she smiled and nodded at the implied question in his gaze.

"Really," he asked breathlessly and she nodded. He looked back to where their second child was growing inside her and laughed, pressing his cheek to her abdomen and just trying to push the love pouring from him through her skin and to his growing child.

"When did you find out," he asked.

"It's been about three months," she said. "I'm sorry for not telling you sooner. The maester told me that after a certain period of time, if I had not lost this baby, his chances of survival were good. I wanted to wait to see if I would lose this one as well. It was so hard, keeping it from you, knowing the joy it would bring to you but I couldn't risk breaking your heart again, not this early."

"Sansa," he said, taking her hands. "I'm not mad at you. You were honest with me about keeping it to yourself and while it could be argued that had I known I wouldn't let you do as much as you do, I'm only happy that you and the baby are safe." She smiled gratefully at him and pressed her lips to his in gratitude. He kissed her back and then pulled her into a tight hug, wrapping his strong, shielding arms around her and their unborn child and feeling like he was strong enough. Their lives had been so much better since coming to Winterfell. After escaping the political warfare of the capitol, they had both become more carefree and open with their affections, unafraid of who saw.

He had always wondered if part of what took their first child was the stress of living in a place where everyone was a liar and wanted something. The same place they were willing to kill you or sell you out to possess what they desired. The maester had told him that that could happen. Pregnancy was a very delicate time for women and stress did cause them to have difficulties with their children. Apparently he had been telling the truth because now Sansa was healthy and happy and still had their child in her belly, safe and sound.

Sansa breathed a sigh of relief at having the weight of this secret off her shoulders. She had been worried that despite his understanding before, once Tyrion knew what she was keeping from him, he would still be upset. His joy had taken her off guard but she cherished the laughter and tenderness that had taken over his entire being. She felt secure in his arms, their child tucked away safely inside her and against him. The terror she'd battled through the beginning of the pregnancy had threatened to break her but once she hit the mark that the maester was waiting for, relief had spread through her like the Dornish wine her husband was so fond of. She still held reservations, always expecting the worst thing imaginable to happen but it was no longer crippling.

Tyrion leaned back and looked at her, placing a hand at her cheek and the other on her abdomen.

"My beautiful family," he whispered and she leaned into his hand, covering both his hands with one of her own.

"We are lucky to have such a wonderful man as you to share our lives with," she said and he rolled his eyes.

"Let's not get carried away," he teased. "You forget to mention ruggedly handsome and witty," he added after a moment and she laughed deeply, leaning forward and pressing her lips to his, savoring the moment and tucking it away into her mind to ponder on later when she wasn't feeling a bliss as complete as that moment.


	27. King And Lionheart

 

**The song for this chapter is King and Lionheart by Of Monsters and Men.**

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Chapter Twenty Seven: King and Lionheart

Sansa raised her face up to the sunlight that was streaming onto her. It was one of those rare sunny days where she would set up camp out of doors and just bask in the small amount of warmth that the burning globe bathed her in. Her book lay discarded on her lap and her sewing was on the table next to her, long forgotten and only half finished. She pressed a hand to her swollen belly and smiled as she felt a kick against it. Soon now.

The final months of her pregnancy had been surprisingly easy. Well as easy as it ever is carrying a growing child within you. Sansa had literally popped out of her dresses and clothes and now she felt like she had swallowed the moon. Where once she could bend down to grab something, now it was a twisted game of contortions to try and reach down without actually bending over. Several times, Bronn had had to help her off the ground when the large protrusion that was she and Tyrion's growing child had proven it impossible let her get back up. The growth was a good sign and she thanked the gods repeatedly that their baby was healthy but the changes to her body and mood weren't received as graciously.

On top of seemingly swallowing a celestial body, her ankles were swollen and sore and her need to relieve herself seemed almost relentless. It seemed as though their baby was always pressed against her bladder and she was embarrassed when being a gracious hostess to have to excuse herself every ten minutes to find a chamber pot. On top of that, her emotions were all over the place. One minute she was doting on Tyrion, enamored of every quality he possessed and the next she desired nothing but to take a book and hit him over the head with it. She had on several occasions until the small man adapted and wisely learned to dodge. She apologized after calming down every time and again thanked the gods for sending her a man so understanding that he never held it against her. Her appetite couldn't even be mentioned in respectable company. She seemed to eat as much as the rest of Winterfell put together. Tyrion encouraged this habit with only a small bit of teasing while she grumbled about indulgences.

Tyrion, it seemed was the master of indulging in anything the baby wanted or could possibly ever need. He had already set up the small nursery in the corner of the room for their child and the small cradle that he had commissioned to be built was crafted in the style of Sansa's own cradle, long since charred and turned to ash. When she had seen that, the ever present tears that seemed to accompany her new overly sensitive emotions had spilled over and her husband worried that he had caused her distress.

Yes, they were definitely ready for this child to come. Sansa winced as another twinge of pain streaked through her back. The small pains to her back and abdomen had been happening periodically throughout the day but so far it wasn't anything she wanted to concern her overly dramatic husband or the maester about. It wasn't anything particularly bad, just unpleasant. She rubbed a hand over her abdomen, feeling another twinge there. The movement did not go unnoticed by her hawk-eyed husband.

"Are you alright, little wolf?" She smiled airily at him in the sunlight, admiring the way the bright light made the gold in his hair shine.

"Fine, just a little uncomfortable. This little one is running out of room," she said and he laughed, placing a hand to her swollen belly. His smile morphed into a frown as he felt another spasm against his palm and the matching flinch in his wife's posture.

"Have you been having this small pains long." She rolled her eyes.

"It's nothing, my love. Just the baby moving." He shook his head.

"Usually it does not when he moves within you. You seem to be in pain. I thought I saw you wincing earlier. How long has this hurt?" She bit her lip, not ready to admit defeat to the paranoia of her husband but she knew that there would be no deterring him from the subject.

"All day. It hasn't been much. It seems to be getting worse though," she admitted and Tyrion called for Pod, moving to help Sansa stand and lead her indoors towards their bedchambers.

"Pod, go fetch the maester. Tell him it is time," Tyrion instructed, voice strained and Sansa sighed.

"Tyrion, I am sure it is nothing," she began but he shook his head.

"I may not be blessed with much knowledge of women or babies but I have done enough reading to know that this is not normal. Something must be wrong." Sansa didn't want to believe him but she had to admit that there couldn't possibly be anything good in something so uncomfortable. Tyrion helped her to the bed and she hissed as a stronger, more painful contraction shook her. Tyrion immediately began rubbing her back, face creased with worry.

"Okay, maybe it's not just nothing," she admitted breathlessly and his frown deepened. The maester arrived at that moment and Tyrion began explaining things to him agitatedly while he checked over Sansa's pulse and breathing, placing his hands to her abdomen and feeling. He turned to Pod and instructed him to gather supplies as well as fetching some of women from the kitchen.

"What is it," Tyrion demanded, fear making his eyes as wide as a skittish colts. The maester turned and rested a hand on Tyrion's shoulder in reassurance.

"It is time, my lord," he said and Tyrion froze, blinking. "The baby is ready to come." Tyrion met Sansa's wide eyes and saw his own relief and panic reflected in their depths. He took Sansa's hand, kissing it and laughing because at this point it was laugh or cry and crying seemed to be a bit demoralizing for his wife who was once again doubled over in pain.

"And now, my lord Tyrion, I must ask that you leave. I will come and fetch you when your child is delivered." Tyrion turned to the maester in outrage.

"You can't honestly expect me to leave while my wife endures this," he asked in disbelief. "I should be here to help support her. I can't just leave while my child is being born!"

"My lord, this is the way things are done. It is improper for you to be here while I birth this baby."

"Improper? There isn't anything under that skirt that I haven't-"

"Tyrion, you will listen to the maester," Sansa said, interrupting him before he _really_ became improper. "We must follow his advice." He made to argue but she shook her head, squeezing his hand. "Do as your told, Tyrion," she bit out around another contraction. "I will be fine here," she promised and he stared at her torn between her order and the fierce, protective loyalty that begged him stay. Finally, he placed a lingering kiss to her damp forehead.

"I will be right here when it is all over and you are holding our child to your breast," he promised. She nodded and hummed in agreement. He placed a last kiss to her hand and then walked purposefully from the room, sure that if he turned around to even glance back the sight of his precious love struggling through the laborious task of birthing a child would diminish his resolve. He walked into the hallway and shut the door. When he turned around, he was met by the blessedly welcome sight of Pod and Bronn holding a few flagons of wine and a goblet for each of them.

"Thank the gods," he muttered before grabbing the glass and chugging back the rich wine.

"Best settle in," Bronn said with a smile. "It's going to be a while." Tyrion wasn't sure he liked Bronn's smile.

No, he didn't like that smile at all.


	28. The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face

 

**The song for this chapter is The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face by the Glee Cast.**

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Chapter Twenty Eight: The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face

Pain. Blinding excruciating pain.

Sansa cried out again as another contraction tore through her. She grasped onto the sheets and gripped the fabric until her knuckles turned white, screaming in agony and clenching her muscles.

"You're doing very well," the maester assured her again. "I can see the shoulders. Just a few more times and your baby will be here." Sansa nodded exhaustedly and leaned back against the pillows, unable to hold herself up. She could hear people moving around her, maids preparing everything the arrival of the baby. She strained to hear beyond the door, wishing she could hear Tyrion speaking or even pacing. If Tyrion were with her, he would reassure her that she was stronger than a dragon. He would tell her a silly joke that would ease the tension and pain of the situation. But the maester refused to let her husband support her through this. In this moment, Sansa could care less about propriety. She was struck with the undeniable urge to push again and raised herself up, pulling on the sheets tied to the bed against the pushing. She cried out again and felt the pressure ease slightly. She looked down and saw the maester stand and place a struggling purplish body into the cloth that a made was holding to him. She wrapped the figure up and the maester began to move his hands around, presumably performing the tasks he had once outlined to her, like cutting the cord that gave her baby life.

"I need to push," she rasped out, voice strained from all the screaming. The maester frowned at her.

"What?"

"I… said I need to… push," she bit out before her muscles tensed and she began to bear down. The maester sat on the stool in front of her and after her muscles eased she heard his voice whisper softly.

"By the Seven."

Tyrion was not a patient man.

He paced back and forth in front of the door to his chambers, hands twisting nervously in front of him.

"Would you stop pacing? It's not going to do much to help your lady in there," Bronn said from the floor a few feet down. He and Podrick were sitting on the floor, backs against the wall, nursing goblets of wine. Bronn offered Tyrion one and he took it, sliding down the wall to sit and rest his head against the stone.

"I hate just sitting here. I should be in there. I'm her husband!"

"There's a way to do these things that say for some reason you can't see a baby being pulled from your wife. I didn't make the rules. But there's no use pacing around like a caged animal. These things take time."

"Oh, birthed a lot of babies have you," Tyrion asked mockingly.

"I've birthed my fair share," Bronn said calmly.

"When would a sell sword possibly birth a child?"

"Using my sword is the part of my work that I enjoy. It doesn't mean I haven't had to do other things while on a job. You couldn't pay me enough to do it for a living. It's a bloody nightmare."

"It is not. What is happening in that room is beautiful," Tyrion protested. "My wife is giving me a son!"

"How do you know it's a boy," Bronn asked, far too calm and sensible for Tyrion's liking.

"I don't. I just imagine it's a son." An agonized cry drifted through the door and Tyrion tensed.

"Yeah," Bronn said wryly, pouring himself more wine after the noise had faded, "it sounds positively lovely in there." Tyrion rolled his eyes and rested his head against the wall, closing his eyes. He should be in there. Sansa had been so worried about something going wrong. What if she couldn't deliver the child? If he were in there, he would whisper sweet encouragements into her ear. He would tell her how beautiful and strong she was. Gods curse it, he hated being stuck out here! He felt useless and cut off.

Suddenly, the noise stopped and Tyrion jumped to his feet as the wooden door swung open. The maester stepped out of the room.

"My lord, would you like to come in now," he asked and Tyrion rushed into the room, straight to Sansa's side. She was flushed and perspiring but a glow seemed to emanate from her as she gazed lovingly down at the tiny bundle in her arms. He climbed onto the bed next to her and his gaze was fixed on the tiny, sleeping, _perfect_ face swaddled in blankets.

"This is your daughter," the maester said, standing at the bedside. "What shall I record as her name?" Tyrion's eyes finally tore themselves from his daughter's face to meet his wife's.

"Joanna," Sansa whispered and Tyrion felt his heart swell impossibly larger with love for his small family.

"Really," he asked her quietly and she smiled softly and nodded before placing a soft kiss to his lips.

"And this is your son," the maester said. It took a few moments for the words to register but when they did, Tyrion froze. He turned and looked back to the maester who was now holding a second, identical bundle in his arms, which he softly transferred to Tyrion's.

"A son," Tyrion gasped.

"Yes. Your wife had twins," the maester said patiently, eyes twinkling. Tyrion's head whipped around and Sansa laughed at the stunned look she had shared upon birthing the second child.

"There's two of them," he choked out. She laughed and nodded. He leaned up and kissed her lips, passion and adoration turning his body warm and causing a laugh to bubble from his chest.

"What name shall I record for the boy, my lord," the maester asked kindly. Tyrion looked at the calm, sleeping face of his son. His eyes moved over the delicate features and then up to meet his wife's.

"Robb," he said quietly and Sansa's eyes brightened with tears. She leaned forward and rested her forehead against his.

"Thank you," she whispered almost silently. She leaned back and watched Robb squirm in his sleep as Tyrion settled against the pillows next to her.

"We're going to have our hands full," Tyrion commented after a few moments and his heart grew impossibly lighter as Sansa's full laugh filled the room. "Bronn! Pod! Get in here!" Bronn and Pod stepped through the door and moved to Tyrion's side. "This is my son Robb. And Sansa is holding my daughter, Joanna," he said and no one missed the gleeful pride in his voice as he showed his children to his two most trusted friends.

"Twins," Bronn said, face blank but Sansa swore she saw the twitch of would be smile. "That's unexpected." Tyrion rolled his eyes.

"It's wonderful," Sansa said, resting her head against her husband's shoulder. He placed a soft kiss to the top of her head.

"I love you, my little wolf," he whispered against the fiery locks of her hair.

"And I you, little lion man."

The End


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